The Yellow Death
by GrimmCatcher
Summary: Jaune survives a childhood tragedy and life in the wilderness with the most unlikely allies. The summoned manifestations of slain Grimm defend him through his travels until he meets a band of refugees and a criminal willing to help smuggle them into the safety of Vale - and Jaune into Beacon Academy where he finally finds purpose for the sword at his hip.
1. Chapter 1

The forest was beginning to thin out as the ragtag bunch of refugees walked further northeast. Jaune kept a wary eye on the trees. There had been no sign of Grimm today, but there rarely was until glowing red eyes shone from the undergrowth.

Living in the wilderness between kingdoms was far from easy. Some small settlements survived, and there were even nomadic groups which travelled the continents. Jaune had encountered many of them, battered by the lack of barriers between Grimm and mankind. Some survived. Some did not.

His companions came from one of the villages which hadn't. Nobody spoke of the attack. It had happened in the night. The Grimm had disappeared by the time Jaune arrived with the dawn, and survivors were just beginning to climb out of the ruins, milling around aimlessly. Jaune recognised the look of hopelessness in their eyes. It was the look of defeat. People without homes or purpose. He had been like that once.

The wilderness was not a place to dwell on loss. It was a lesson he'd learned quickly.

Pulling the survivors together had been easy, despite his youth. The sword at his hip and the bearing with which he carried it marked Jaune as a Hunter. A Hunter of Grimm. He'd rallied together the pitiful few who were left, and taken command of their small group. Some supplies had survived the raid. Grimm had no interest in food, only killing. With a little prompting, they'd gathered together what they had left, and followed in his trail.

Before the Grimm came back to finish them off.

Most people think of Grimm as mindless, but Jaune had learned better. The hard way. Show that you are undefended, and they will always attack. Anybody who had remained in that village would have died before they could rebuild. Moving forward was their only chance of survival. It was how he had survived for seven long years; by always moving forward.

Sienna dropped to one knee, inspecting the ground.

"Hey, Jaune!" she called.

He glanced over to the red-haired Faunus girl. Her eyes were sharper than a human's, a gift of her heritage, just like her fur-like hair and black, pointed nose. It had singled her out as a freak to some in the village, but everyone appreciated her sharper instincts now that they were exposed to the wilds.

"You found something?" asked Jaune, not looking back. He scanned the horizon in front of them, but couldn't see any signs of danger.

"Come here. You'll want to see this. It means you were right."

Jaune grinned.

"You know how much I love it when I'm right," he said. "Be right there. Moorland, take over for me."

A stout farmer detached himself from the middle of the group, and replaced Jaune at the head of the loose column. He wasn't a fighter, not like Jaune, but he hadn't let go of his pitchfork since losing his wife in the attack, and had two daughters in the group. Jaune trusted a man like that to keep watch more than he would any soldier.

"Anything?" grunted Moorland.

"Nah," said Jaune. "But you know how it is."

"Should we stop while you go see what the fox is yipping about?" asked the farmer. Jaune frowned. Moorland held no bad blood against the Faunus, but still spoke with the thoughtless contempt that too many humans shared.

"We should press on further. I can catch up even if you decide to make everybody march double-time," joked Jaune.

"In that case let me say we _should_ stop. Even if the path's clear, we've been walking all day. We're not all as young as you, lad. And some are younger," said Moorland sourly. By the look on his face, Jaune guessed he was thinking of his daughters. They were only six and twelve, but had to walk with the adults. The few salvaged wagons were filled with essential supplies."

"A stationary target draws attention," warned Jaune.

Moorland snorted.

"So does twenty people and three wagons rattling through the forest. We need rest if we're going to make it to Vale."

Jaune sighed, and patted Moorland on the shoulder agreeably.

"Alright, old-timer. You know your own people better than I do. Pull up camp for lunch. No fire."

Moorland grumbled, but didn't argue. Jaune headed back down the column to Sienna, amused by Moorland's gruff barks as he attempted to sound like a figure of authority, and the relieved sighs of the refugees dropping to the ground or pulling food from the wagons.

"Thanks, Jaune," whispered Coral as he passed. "I'm really tired."

Jaune gave her a reassuring smile and ruffled her hair. She was his age, but had lost her family in the attack. Those extra seven years of peace made her look five years younger to his eyes. He would have been jealous if not for how fresh the pain in her eyes was.

"Thank Moorland, not me. I wanted to march you until you learned how to sleepwalk in a straight line," he quipped. She giggled nervously. "Remember to let me know if you need a break, okay Coral? We have to keep moving, but the old blighter is right. We shouldn't push ourselves too hard when we don't have to. Today's been nice and quiet, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," she replied. "And yesterday. I think you frightened them all off."

Jaune's face fell.

"There's always more," he said quietly. "But I'll look after you until we're all safe. I promise. And an Arc's word is his bond!"

"Oi, Jaune! Stop flirting and get over here!" shouted Sienna. Jaune rolled his eyes, although a tinge of heat did rise to his cheeks. He noticed a matching flush of colour in Coral's face, but dismissed the thought. He wouldn't know how to flirt if his life depended on it, and his previous attempts had been humiliating enough that he'd sworn off hitting on girls. Thankfully none of his current company had witnessed any of those dreadful failures.

"Okay, okay. Keep your tail on, foxy lady," he shouted back at her.

She swatted him on the back of the head as soon as he was in reach.

"I don't have a tail, idiot. Although I'm plenty foxy."

"Well, duh," said Jaune, thinking of her Faunus features.

"But didn't I say stop flirting? Yeah. That's what I just said," Sienna reminded him. Jaune gave her a puzzled expression.

"What?" he said, nonplussed. "I just said that you're a foxy… lady. Oh."

"Hmph. And here I thought you were complimenting me to make up for taking half an hour to get here," grumbled Sienna.

"Nope, just reminding you that you look like a fox."

"Ahem," said Sienna.

"Damn it," muttered Jaune. "Is everything innuendo?"

"If it has to do with a fox, pretty much," she answered. "Anyway, now that we've established that you're not a flirt, just an idiot, have a look at this."

"A change of topic! Just what I wanted!" exclaimed Jaune. "What am I looking at? Rocks and weeds?"

Sienna sighed, and pulled some of the weeds out. Jaune's eyes widened, and he bent down to help. Soon they'd cleared a sizeable patch from the undergrowth. Once the plant matter was gone, Jaune kicked away some of the small surface rocks, and what lay beneath was revealed. The forgotten remains of a road.

"You said that this line of thinner foliage probably marked an old path, right?" asked Sienna.

"Yeah," replied Jaune. "That's why we followed it. Easier to walk through, and there could even be a village at the end."

"This isn't just a country lane, Jaune," she said. Jaune caught the note of excitement in her voice and smiled. "This is an actual road. Industrial-built. We've found it."

"Mountain Glen," murmured Jaune. "Good work."

Sienna sniffed.

"You led us here, not me," she said.

"But you found the road. Now we know that we're going the right way. It can't be far. And then we can find one of the abandoned routes to Vale."

Jaune jumped as Sienna wrapped her arms around him suddenly. She sniffled back a sob, and he patted her back awkwardly.

"Hey now, city life isn't so bad. I've heard, anyway."

"Don't be stupid," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "You saved us."

"You saved yourselves," said Jaune. "I didn't walk this far by myself. We're all in this together."

They joined the rest of the travellers by the wagons, where the refugees were eating rations of cold food. Jaune gratefully accepted an apple and a loaf of bread that was beginning to go hard, but not yet stale.

"You found the road," he said to Sienna. "You tell them."

Everybody in the group was sitting close enough to hear, and every face rose up at his words. Not everybody stopped chewing, but they all stared at him and Sienna in rapt attention.

"We're almost at Mountain Glen," she said with glee. "We're one stop away from Vale."

Moorland snorted, and spat into the dirt.

"Even if we get to Vale, those city gates don't open easily. Got a boat to sail us into the harbour, boy? Or does that sheath of yours turn into an airship as well," he snapped bitterly.

"Dad!" cried his eldest daughter. "Don't be like that. We're nearly there."

Moorland just grunted, and went on eating, but renewed looks of hope spread around the ramshackle campsite, and there was a distinct note of newfound optimism in the rumble of chatter.

Hours after pulling up camp and walking towards Mountain Glen, buildings were beginning to appear over the treeline. Whispers broke out at the sight of them, and even Jaune felt elated at the sight.

Moorland caught up to him, and grabbed him by the arm. Jaune shot him a quizzical look.

"C'mon, lad. Let's walk ahead a bit. Don't want the others hearing," he said.

Jaune immediately felt his elation subside, giving way to the low level caution he'd almost never let go of since that day seven years ago.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" he asked, sighing.

"Might be nothing. But you're the only real fighter among us, and even though you're just a kid, you've led us this far. I thought you ought to know. What do you know about Mountain Glen?" asked Moorland.

"About the same as everyone else here. I didn't know it existed until you brought it up back when we were plotting a route to Vale. An abandoned expansion of the city, long empty of people, but built before airships were common, so there are overland roads left for us to follow," said Jaune."

"Aye, and underground tunnels all sealed off, too. Full of Grimm. There's only one reason a city gets abandoned when it's this big."

"I know," said Jaune grimmly. "Everybody's dead."

"The Grimm should have wandered off looking for fresh prey, but you know those demons better than I do. They're never completely gone."

"It's been a long time. We'll be quick. We'll be quiet. And hopefully we'll be lucky."

"The last piece of luck we had was when you stumbled into the ruins of our village," muttered Moorland.

"So it's about time we had another lucky break, isn't it?" asked Jaune, giving Moorland a winning smile. The farmer just sighed and stared ahead in silence.

"If this place is a death trap, I'm the one who suggested we come here. Whatever happens from here on out is my fault."

Jaune spun around and grabbed Moorland by his upper arms, glaring at him fiercely.

"Don't ever think like that. If somebody is killed by a Grimm, the Grimm is the only one to blame. Don't waste your life on fear when you can take that pitchfork you've carried all this way and drive it into a Beowulf's skull. Whatever happens here, I'm going to survive. And all of you agreed to follow my rules if you were going to follow my lead. What's rule number one?" Jaune demanded.

"Survive," muttered Moorland.

"Rule two," demanded Jaune, again.

"Survive," said Moorland, a defiant look entering his eyes.

"Rule three," continued Jaune.

"Alright, alright, survive. I get your point," Moorland exclaimed, but the edge of a smile was forming on his weathered features.

"That's the spirit," said Jaune, clapping him on the back.

"It's really still one rule, though," added Moorland.

"Nope," said Jaune. "Rules one through ten are all 'Survive'."

"What's rule eleven?" asked Moorland.

Jaune gave him a wry grin.

"Find a reason to survive."

"Done that yet?"

"Getting you lot to Vale is reason enough for now," answered Jaune.

"And then?" insisted Moorland.

"Then I'm back to rule one," said Jaune with a shrug.

"That's no way to live," muttered the farmer.

The two men walked in silence for a time. Jaune mulled over Moorland's words, troubled by them more than he'd ever admit to anyone else. He'd been adrift and wandering since his family had been butchered. In all honesty, meeting these refugees had been a blessing to him as much as to them. When he had something to do, somebody to help, he felt like he had a reason to survive. Out in the wilderness alone, only habit and an ancient promise kept him moving from one day to the next. Having a sense of purpose was a wonderful change. It made him feel like he was living, not just alive.

Jaune's maudlin train of thought was cut by a sudden shriek.

"Grimm!" shouted somebody from the refugees behind him.

Jaune spotted them immediately, sprinting around the corner of a building at breakneck speed. He tensed, lowering himself into a fighting pose, and thought of the refugees spread out behind him, exposed to a half-dozen alleyways and street openings.

"Sienna!" he shouted. "Watch our flanks!"

"Clear!" she replied. "Everybody, circle by the wagons. Now!"

Her Faunus eyes weren't enough to assuage Jaune's worry, but it was all he had. A dark voice in the back of his mind told him that the screams would warn him if more Grimm came from a different direction.

"Moorland, get back to the wagons!" he hissed, running forwards to meet the Grimm.

Jaune pulled his sword from its sheath in a single smooth motion, tossing his shield before him, into the air above the leading Beowulf. It shimmered with white-gold light, and transformed into the shape of his power. A Beowulf.

With a black mask and golden body, Jaune's summoned Beowulf was almost a reflection of the ones attacking. Luckily, the Beowulf was the lowest ranked species of Grimm, and the three attacking him were young, and their size reflected that.

Jaune's golden Beowulf appeared in mid-air above the leader, crushing it in place as it landed. The enemy Grimm struggled for a moment, but the surprise attack caught it off guard, and Jaune's monster snapped its neck in a pair of fierce jaws.

Now there were two fighters on each side. Jaune dove for the one on the left, trusting his Beowulf to attack without his direction. It required orders in more complex situations, but it could beat down a single smaller beast through brute force, and Jaune needed to focus on his own opponent.

The third enemy Grimm launched itself at him, fangs and claws outstretched. Jaune sprinted at it full-tilt, then slid beneath it at the last minute, driving his sword into the soft spot where its arm met its torso. The Grimm's own momentum buried the sword deeper than Jaune's strength could alone, and it howled in agony.

Lying flat on his back under the Grimm, Jaune placed his foot on the beast's shoulder for leverage, pushed hard against it, and twisted his sword, before yanking it downwards with all his strength. The limb came apart with a gush of foul black fluids. Jaune rolled out of the way, and the Beowulf fell onto the spot he'd been lying in. It pushed itself up with three limbs, but the loss of its foreleg had left it unco-ordinated, and Jaune was quicker. He kicked with his heavy boots deep into the wound, and pushed himself up onto the Beowulf's back, careful to avoid its bony spines.

In one quick movement he had his sword placed against the base of its neck, and leant on it with his full weight. For a moment he thought that it wasn't enough, but then the resounding crack of its spine splitting filled the air, and his sword shot downwards through the dying Grimm's throat.

Jaune leapt off the beast, backing away in case it caught him as it lashed out in its death throes.

His golden Beowulf, having finished off its opponent, pounced upon the dying Grimm and hastened its end by driving long claws deep into its belly.

Jaune stood there, panting in exertion, and exchanged a look with his Grimm. It let out a low growl, and padded over to him. He placed a hand on the mask which served as its face, and it faded back into the shape of his sheath.

A stylised Beowulf mask marked the top of his sheath. Except for that sign, there was nothing to suggest that Jaune's weapons held the spirit of a Grimm he had slain and bound to his will as his own personal guardian. He looked at the Beowulf sigil with a blank expression, remembering the name of his weapon. Crocea Mors. The Yellow Death.

Jaune's Semblance was protective. He could shield himself from harm, and he could bind Grimm to act as guardians. But only Grimm he had slain. The Yellow Death was a fitting name for the sword of a necromancer. Even after all this time, he had hardly begun to explore it. He found it unnerving to say the least.

"That thing creeps me out more than the normal Grimm. At least they just want to kill you," murmured Sienna. Jaune leapt. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed her approaching.

"Is everyone safe?" he asked.

She nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief. Noncombatants on the battlefield were his worst nightmare. He couldn't protect everyone, but he couldn't stop himself from needing to so much that it made his blood burn.

Suddenly, the sounds of strangers shouting made his hand drop to his sword.

"Get back," he ordered Sienna.

"Those aren't Grimm," she argued, ignoring his demand.

"Sienna!" he protested, before a group of five masked men holding guns came around the corner.

"The Grimm went this way!" Their leader shouted. "Find them!"

"Uh, boss?" muttered one of the grunts behind him, who had tusks protruding from beneath his mask, marking him as a Faunus.

"The White Fang," whispered Sienna, in a tone split between wonder and horror.

"Damn it, intruders, here? We can't have witnesses. Shoot them all!" demanded the leader.

"Wait!" cried Sienna. "I'm one of you."

"You're no Fang, girl. And what's this with you, a travelling circus?" he sneered.

Jaune struggled to keep his hand from his weapon. He knew that attacking now would only make things worse, though it hurt to take the risk of the White Fang soldiers shooting first and killing the people under his protection because of his own inaction.

"She's a Faunus, Liver," said the grunt with the tusks. "We don't kill our own."

"Plenty of humans here too. I only spot three of us. Must be twenty in that group. Torchwick said to kill any spies on sight."

"We're no spies," interjected Jaune. Suddenly five guns were levelled at him.

"Was I talking to you, human?" sneered Liver, aiming down the barrel of his gun.

"We're just refugees, trying to get to Vale. Grimm destroyed these people's village. They just want a chance to survive. To be free. Same as you," he tried, desperately.

"Even if it means joining the White Fang!" burst out Sienna. Jaune gave her a shocked look, but remained silent, choosing to wait and see where she was going with this.

Liver paused as well.

"Hmph. I won't kill a recruit, but do you know what we do with spies? We cut off their hands and lock them in the vault with a hungry Grimm. You sure you're not a spy, girl?" he asked, nastily.

"I promise. I'm just trying to find a life," said Sienne. Jaune touched her arm, looking at her questioningly. She shook her head, and pulled her arm away from him. "I'll do what it takes, but we're not spies. Let us go, please," she begged.

"What about you?" asked Tusks, gesturing at Jaune. "You said their village. What are you doing with them?"

"Travelling to Vale. Safety in numbers," said Jaune quietly.

Liver appeared to mull it over, then came to a decision.

"Alright. We're taking you to Torchwick. He'll decide what to do with you humans. Any Faunus willing to fight for our cause will have their chance, as well."

"I don't want to join the White Fang!" cried out a young boy with a small wiry tail. His father shushed him, but it was too late. He'd spoken too loudly and everyone had heard.

"Joining is optional," said Liver. "We only want real believers, not slaves. But if you're not with us, you're with the humans. Might be Torchwick just wants you all gunned down so word doesn't get out that we're camped out here. Your choice."

"Take us to Torchwick, then," said Jaune firmly.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? A baby Hunter, a handful of Faunus, a crotchety farmer with his trusty ol' pitchfork, and a rabble of hungry homeless people with sore feet," drawled a man immaculately dressed in a tailored white suit. He tipped his hat in greetings to the crowd, completely nonchalant and sprawled against a packing crate despite the dozens of armed White Fang militia surrounding him, a human.

"So I'm guessing you're Torchwick," said Jaune.

"And I'm guessing you're a witless trespasser, not a spy. The Hunters wouldn't send a trainee on a mission this deep into the wilderness, and I can't spot another fighter amongst the lot of you."

"That'll be a yes, then," murmured Jaune to himself.

"Indeed," said Torchwick. "Roman Torchwick, at your service. A gentleman of leisure and occasional outlaw. And who might you be?"

"Not a trainee hunter," said Jaune. "Just a traveller."

"Yes, yes, I've heard the story. Refugees bound for Vale, was it? You certainly look the part. But I just can't have you running off and blabbing about my little operation here," he said, giving Jaune a rakish smile.

"The fox girl wants to join up with the White Fang," interrupted Liver.

Torchwick struck him with his cane, knocking him nearly to the ground. The smile never left his face.

"And so she shall, if so she wishes. But the rest of you present a problem. And I prefer to solve problems quickly, lest my problems become my employer's problems. Because, you see, her problems are invariably my problems, and I do so hate cleaning up a mess that could have been fixed by doing things properly the first time."

Torchwick sighed, and for the first time, the smile left his face, and he stood up straight.

"Look, kid, you seem like a decent sort. Pulled these people together, killed more than a few Grimm from what they've been whispering - yes, you at the back, I can hear you. Can you hear them, traveller?"

"My name is Jaune."

"Well then let me fill you in. They're whispering that you could probably take out enough of my guards for your troublesome band to escape and make for Vale. They certainly seem impressed by you, and yet you say you're not a Hunter?"

Jaune saw the loaded question, and answered it accordingly.

"I've fought Grimm all my life, but I've never been to combat school. Never qualified. Just stuck a sword in some monsters when they looked at me and thought 'lunch'."

Torchwick grinned.

"You know, I'm not so fond of twenty strays wandering into my secret base, but I like you, kid. How about we make a deal?"

Jaune frowned, knowing that this was not the type of man to make a deal with lightly. But then he looked around at all the armed White Fang members, tense and eager to kill some humans.

"You seem like a shrewd businessman," said Jaune. "This deal isn't going to be fair, is it?"

"Aha! I like you even more! You're exactly right. Mind you, normally this deal would be unfair for you. This time it's unfair for me. You get the better end of the bargain - so long as you can follow through."

"Big risk, big reward?" quipped Jaune. "What if I say no?"

"I'm tempted to let you continue onto Vale. There's a whole lot of Grimm this close to the city. They can sense their prey inside. Those civilians at your back won't make it without you. And Vale probably wouldn't let a bunch of strays in, anyway."

"I'm hearing a but," said Jaune dryly.

"There always is one," replied Torchwick. "Alright. I like you, but I can't compromise what I'm doing here. I'm sure you haven't a clue what it is, but you can guess it's something big."

Jaune glanced around, seeing crates of dust, weapons, and hundreds of armed White Fang soldiers doing the bidding of a human.

"Above average, at least," he said. "But I'm no expert on large-scale crime."

"So I'll give you a choice. Either you do this favour for me, and if you succeed, I'll fly you all into Vale. Or your friends can walk to Vale and hope they survive."

"Just my friends?" asked Jaune, raising an eyebrow.

"They stand a chance with you, I'm afraid. So if you said no, I'll have to kill you."

Jaune froze. He'd promised to survive, but these twenty lives were surely more valuable than his single one. If they could live by his sacrifice, that would be worth it. Even if it meant breaking a promise. But the road was dangerous. He knew Torchwick was right. They'd likely die within a week without him.

"You're actually considering it!" marvelled Torchwick. "Noble, but misguided."

"Jaune, you can't just die," snapped Moorland. "Rule one, blondie. Rule one."

"I get the feeling I'll probably die if I try doing you that favour, too," said Jaune, narrowing his eyebrows. "What happens if I try it and fail?"

"Your friends all die," said Torchwick nonchalantly.

Jaune put his hand on his sword.

Torchwick rolled his eyes theatrically.

"They die on the road, kid. Not here. I'll let them feed the Grimm instead of wasting bullets."

"This is a terrible compromise," snarled Jaune.

"Wonderful! So you've decided to do it!" exclaimed Torchwick, twirling his cane in excitement. "I was hoping you would make the smart decision. Believe it or not, I'd rather like to see you survive."

"Of course," said Jaune. "Because that means I'll have completed whatever this horrible favour is. You'll have got everything you wanted."

"I have a habit of getting what I want, Jaune, and I don't intend to break it here. But remember that I want you to survive as well, so don't go dying of your wounds after you kill it."

Jaune sighed.

"I knew it."

"Of course you did. I wouldn't put my faith in a stupid boy, now, would I?"

Sienna pushed her way forward, pressing her face almost into Torchwick's, and growling. Jaune imagined that it was only the fact that she was a Faunus that had prevented the White Fang guards from opening fire.

"What the hell do you want him to do?"

Torchwick leaned forward and kissed her pertly on the lips. Sienna reeled back in shock, blushing crimson with embarrassment and anger. Torchwick winked at Jaune.

"Now, now, gorgeous, Jaune already knows the important part."

"Just tell me one thing," asked Jaune in a strained voice. "You want me to kill something for you. Is it a Grimm or a Hunter?"

Torchwick laughed aloud, clapping his hands in pure mirth.

"Oh, and you'd do it, too, wouldn't you? Not to worry, my young friend. It's just an unholy behemoth nesting in one of the tunnels we need to excavate. An Ursa Major. One of the biggest I've seen."

Jaune let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He'd had to kill people before. Bandits on the road, mostly. Soldiers from the cities raiding villages - some on-duty, some off-duty, depending on the uniform. But he'd always found it as unnatural as killing Grimm was natural.

"No time like the present," he said.

"Excellent!" said Torchwick. "You there," he proclaimed, gesturing to a group of White Fangs moving a weapons crate across the room. "Once that's away, see our guests get some food, and keep an eye on them. Shoot anyone who tries to make a run for it, and shoot any of ours who tries to make trouble with them." He caught Jaune staring at him in shock, and winked again. "I try to play fair. You're with us for now. That means you're not to be touched."

Only Sienna followed Jaune to the tunnel entrance. Jaune had spent the whole trip through the labyrinthine tunnel system wishing she'd gone with the rest, but at least he wouldn't have to protect her alone. Torchwick had come along to supervise, along with a squad of twenty White Fangs.

"This is just a loan, mind you. Don't get too used to having minions, although I do confess, they're a load of fun," confided Torchwick. "They'll provide cover fire for you, though I'd be wary of their aim as much as the Ursa."

"Do I get a gun?" asked Sienna sourly.

"Guns cost money, sweetheart. Got any Lien hidden away?"

"Do you charge all White Fang recruits for their equipment?" she demanded. "Can't imagine that being an easy way to sign people up."

"Hah, you're a spitfire, and no mistake, aren't you?" said Torchwick, laughing. "Alright. Liver, give her yours."

"What?" exclaimed the Faunus. "I'm the highest ranking Fang here!"

"And the worst shot," whispered Torchwick to Jaune. "I always saw you as more of a melee combatant," he continued in a louder voice.

"No way am I getting within reach of that thing," growled Liver.

"Well then, you're clearly not committed to the fight," scolded Torchwick. "I'm disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed. Hand over your gun and go shout at some recruits for wearing their masks upside down or something. Go on, shoo," he added, when Liver made no motion to leave.

Liver snarled, and thrust the weapon at Sienna, storming off back to the main compound.

"Have you ever used a gun before?" Jaune asked her.

"If he can do it, I can figure it out. Where's the safety?" she asked.

"Liver leaves his off in case anybody tries stealing his gun," added one of the other soldiers. "Paranoid bastard hates it when anyone else touches his precious baby."

Torchwick grinned.

"He hates it oh so much," he added, giving Sienna a conspiratorial grin. She rolled her eyes, and refused to look at him.

"This is it," said the soldier who'd spoken up before.

Jaune immediately snapped into full alert, scanning the tunnel entrance. Rubble was scattered everywhere, and there were deep claw gouges in the rock.

"Command is yours, Mr. Not a Hunter," said Torchwick. "Even I will join in the fun, but you're the one who's getting intimate with the devil in there. Nobody else is to enter melee range."

"Right," said Jaune.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

This was it. He reached deep inside himself, and activated his Aura. The soldiers yelped at the sudden flash of white light, but Torchwick merely raised an eyebrow.

"Don't kill my Beowulf," he said. "Fire into the cave to draw the Ursa out, then fall back into a ring around the edge of this room. Concentrate on its head. You won't do much damage, but the gunfire will keep it blind. We'll do the rest," said Jaune.

"Your Beowulf?" asked Torchwick.

Jaune answered by summoning his golden Grimm companion. The soldiers hissed in a single group breath of shock, but Torchwick raised a hand.

"The lad said don't kill his Beowulf," he said, his voice thick with curiosity. "Now I'm even more eager for you to survive. If you die, I'm going to actually be upset."

"Enough talk," said Jaune flatly. "Shoot the shadows until you see red eyes glowing. That's your cue to fall back. That's your target."

"Yes, sir!" barked the White Fang soldiers as one, filling Jaune with an odd sense of bravado he'd never felt before. He'd never led a team into battle, save for his Beowulf. His adrenaline spiked. It was time.

He grinned.

"Fire!" he bellowed.

Sienna was the first to shoot, he noticed with pleasure.

The noise of gunfire and Dust bullets ricocheting off the tunnel walls was deafening, but not so loud as to mask the roar of an enraged Ursa Major. Jaune clenched the hilt of Crocea Mors tightly. Red eyes gleamed with malice.

For a moment there were only eyes, hanging in the darkness, and then the darkness took on form; an immense bear-like bulk covered in spikes of white bone. The Ursa's mask was almost invisible under the sparks of bullets hammering against its head. Perfect.

Jaune raced into action, his Beowulf mirroring his every motion.

"Hamstring!" he yelled to it. It roared in confirmation, and fell to all fours, sprinting faster than Jaune could run.

It ran past the Ursa, slipping between its legs, and sweeping its right arm in a long hook across the back of its leg. The Ursa cried out, and swiped at the Beowulf, but, blinded by the storm of bullets exploding in its eyes, missed Jaune's guardian beast entirely. Attempting to catch the Beowulf, the Ursa turned, swiping low towards the ground. It missed Jaune's Beowulf by inches, but by this time, Jaune had crossed the distance to his foe.

By turning to attack the Beowulf, the Ursa had exposed the back of its leg to Jaune. Mimicking the swipe his Beowulf had just made, Jaune sliced open the muscles at the back of the Ursa's leg. It swiped at him this time, and he wasn't fast enough.

The blow struck him in the stomach, sending him reeling into the tunnel wall. Jaune groaned in agony, but managed to retain his grip on his sword by sheer willpower. His beowulf climbed up the back of the Ursa's weakened leg, using its claws to dig into the larger beast's flesh. Once it was within reach, it swiped outwards with both arms, driving deep gouges into the inside of the Ursa's upper thighs. The Beowulf leapt backwards as the Ursa fell to the ground.

Jaune was back on his feet, blocking out the pain, and sprinting towards the Ursa.

"Hold your fire!" he screamed, hoping that they could hear him over the sound of twenty assault weapons firing at once. Somehow, they did - or just saw him running into the path of the bullets and stopped in case they hit him.

Jaune's Beowulf pounced forwards, landing on the back of the massive Ursa's head, and holding it to the ground. Jaune moved his sword into a two-handed grip, pressed the hilt against his shoulder, and charged directly into the monster's bullet-scarred mask.

His sword sank up to the hilt in the Ursa's mask, and his Beowulf howled in triumph.

The Ursa's mask cracked, splintered, and shattered. Jaune took a deep breath, and pushed his Aura through his sword, into the dying Ursa. The beast shimmered with white and gold light as Jaune's power invaded its body, and its skin slowly began changing colour from black to gold.

Jaune's Beowulf vanished.

A minute passed. The Ursa was completely still. Everyone watching was completely silent. The Ursa's body eventually was fully transformed into the same golden colour as his Beowulf. A new, black mask appeared with the sound of a bell tolling, and the Ursa vanished.

On the ground lay Jaune's sheath. Slowly he walked over to where it lay, still lightly glowing, and picked it up. A stylised Ursa mask had appeared on the sheath, below the symbol for his Beowulf.

Jaune touched it, lost for words. Now he had two.

The silence was almost as if the entire cavern was caught in a deep reverie.

After some time had passed, the sound of Torchwick clapping broke the stillness in the air.

"Bravo, Jaune. Bravo. You've slain the monster and saved your friends. More importantly, you've impressed me. The last person to do that was, well, me. I'll get you all into Vale. I'm a man of my word."

"Glad to hear it," muttered Jaune, exhausted now that the adrenaline of battle was leaving him.

"Come now, you could use a drink. This lot will show your foxy friend back to your companions, but you and I have some terms to discuss."

Jaune looked at Torchwick with a sinking feeling in his chest. That sounded like there was no way it could end well, but he didn't have the energy to argue.

"Oh, don't look at me that way. You're my favourite person today. You'll like what I have to offer, and I give you my word, our earlier bargain will stand in good faith.

It was a long, silent trek up to Torchwick's private apartments. Jaune could tell he was dying to speak by the constant furtive glances, but the man remained silent. Out of respect for Jaune's clear need to be quiet right now? In an attempt to earn Jaune's good will.

Probably both, Jaune figured. Torchwick wanted something from him. He was playing a game with every word, every action. But that didn't mean he was up to something bad. Just that he was up to something.

At last, Torchwick unlocked the door and pointed to a sofa, which Jaune collapsed into gratefully. Torchwick pulled several glasses from a drinks cabinet on the far wall, and handed Jaune a glass of clear liquid.

"Water?" asked Jaune, upon tasting it.

"Hydration is very important after a fight like that," replied Torchwick. "Almost as important as what's in these glasses," he added, holding up two tumblers full of amber liquid with a teasing grin.

"Thank you," said Jaune, surprised, downing the glass of water and accepting the second drink immediately afterwards.

"As I said before, I keep my bargains. You and your friends will all be flown to Vale. But you put on quite the show down there, and that deserves a reward. I was going to dump you by the docks with the food you brought in your wagons and a threat to keep quiet, but that seems a touch impolite now. Suitable for refugees and civilians, but you're a higher class of person than that. Trained or not, you're a Hunter. And a damn good one."

"I grew up outside the kingdoms. Alone. I'm still alive. Go figure," muttered Jaune.

"Indeed, indeed," said Torchwick. "No formal training, just a will to survive - and a _very_ unusual ability. Golden Grimm, my word. There aren't even stories about those. You've found yourself in a realm beyond both myth and science."

"I promised my parents I'd survive when the Grimm killed them. I wasn't strong enough on my own, so I learned how to - not be alone. Until I was strong enough," said Jaune.

"You have the look of an orphan about you. A survivor. I imagine it's what drew those people to follow you, even though you're just a kid."

"I've not been a kid since I was ten years old, Torchwick," muttered Jaune.

"You've been fighting Grimm alone all that time?" marvelled Torchwick. "Call me Roman, by the way. You must be, what, eighteen?"

"Seventeen," replied Jaune.

"Well now," said Torchwick. "That's convenient. I was going to change your age to seventeen if you were any older. You see, I'm not just getting your people into Vale. You've earned them all citizenships. Legal standing. Nobody can throw them out the gates. All forged, of course, but the best forgeries around. Farmers, cooks, shopkeepers - all their old lives back, but in Vale."

"But I didn't have a job to forge papers for," said Jaune wryly. "Least of all one that takes seventeen year olds."

"Have you ever heard of Beacon?"

"Of course I have. What's your point?"

"The first years start at seventeen. I'm thinking you'd fit in better at a Hunter academy than a textile factory. You've got no training, but you've got enough skill to beat most first years. I'd wager you'd be a top-notch Hunter by the time you get trained up properly and graduate."

Jaune frowned, and took a sip of his drink. It was delicious. He took another sip.

"I still don't understand why you'd want to do that for me. That sounds difficult. Expensive. And not part of our deal."

"There it is again! You get how business works. You know the game, even if you don't know how to play it yet!" crowed Torchwick. "See, I want to find out just how far you can go. You've piqued my interest. Call it a favour from a friend."

Jaune gave Torchwick a dubious look.

"The type of favour that gets paid back?"

"What sort of friend doesn't return a favour?" said Torchwick whimsically, raising his palms in the air.

"Debt is hardly friendship," shot back Jaune.

Torchwick grinned.

"That's the thing. I'm not offering you a debt to be paid off. I'm offering you my friendship. I'll do you favours, you'll do me favours. No threats or obligation, just mutual gain. I could use a guy like you in my corner."

"I don't even know what your corner is," said Jaune.

"Neither do I, half the time," said Torchwick with a laugh. "But this is between you and me, not my employer and you. So this corner, the White Fang - it's business, not friendship. You and me, that's something between us. Sending you to Beacon will make you better able to help me out. We both win."

"So you want somebody on your side, not your employer's side?"

"That's the gist," agreed Torchwick. "And I'm dying to know more about those Grimm of yours. What are they, some kind of kinetic Aura projection?"

"Necromancy," said Jaune flatly.

"Ah."


	2. Chapter 2

The bleak grey walls of a Bullhead were not a comforting sight. Jaune felt a twinge of nausea at every suggestion of turbulence, every shift in altitude or direction. Feeling incredibly cheap for doing so, he activated just the tiniest fraction of his Aura, and felt the motion sickness immediately subside.

"I could have given you some tablets for that if you'd asked before we set off, you know?" teased Torchwick.

"Shut up," grumbled Jaune, embarrassed. "I've never flown before."

"It's the only way to travel," declared Roman loftily.

"Sure, when you're a self proclaimed master criminal you can't get the bus incase it's the one with your wanted poster on it."

"It's a fantastic likeness. You should check it out sometime," said Torchwick.

"Maybe I'll spray-paint some facial hair on for you," muttered Jaune. "But enough about you. What's happening with the villagers? You said that they're all ahead of us in Vale, didn't you? Did everything work out?"

Roman flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes and grinned at Jaune.

"Everyone's settled. Butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers. Licensed traders, citizens of Vale, and I even found most of them places to live and work! No, no, don't worry. There's no need to tell me how good I am. Believe me, I know," said Torchwick.

"That sounds expensive," said Jaune. "What's the catch?"

Torchwick chuckled, and leaned on his cane.

"Damn, kid, when are you going to start trusting me? I've been good to my word so far, haven't I?" he asked.

Jaune rolled his eyes, and leaned against the bulkhead of Torchwick's personal Bullhead.

"I trust you," he said. "But I also trust you to never do something without making sure you get your cut. What's the deal, here?" Jaune's tone was questioning, but not suspicious. It had been a week since he'd met Torchwick, and he was beginning to get used to the way that his new sort-of friend operated.

"I own all the buildings. Couldn't leave them standing empty, or the authorities would get suspicious. But they've all got a guest room hidden away for when one of my men needs a place to lay low, or a few boxes need somewhere to wait between courier drop-offs."

"Makes sense," said Jaune with a sigh. "I don't like the idea of all these people being sidelined into your little criminal empire, but it's not like we brought the Lien to rent out ten or twenty apartments. A discrete favour now and then is easier than trying to find the cash."

Torchwick doffed his hat at Jaune, and winked.

"There you go. Favours are the real currency of the world. Money is just the grease which keeps the gears of life turning. It's better for me this way, too. If I'd stationed any of my men to occupy the safehouses I'm loaning you, they'd be unavailable to work elsewhere. Your folk can just go about their lives and occasionally answer the door late at night."

Jaune had an inkling that Torchwick also didn't want to leave stolen valuables and terrorists or thugs guarded by his lackeys, who were just as likely to run off with the goods or draw attention with a brawl between a White Fang and human crook. He didn't like it, but it worked out for both of them this way.

"And Sienna?"

Torchwick shrugged.

"The Vale White Fang chapter is under my direction for now, but I'm not the White Fang. If she's signed up with them, that's her business," he said.

"You know she only did it to get those guns out of our faces," said Jaune in frustration. "She doesn't need to join up anymore."

"Don't you think she knows that?"asked Torchwick quietly, rendering Jaune mute. "Kid, the Faunus have a lot of anger bottled up inside them. Sometimes you never know what a person is really capable of until they get a chance to break the mould."

"I -" began Jaune, hesitantly. "I just thought that she'd want to live a normal life. Away from the killing. Start something better, not trade one fight for another."

Torchwick put an arm on Jaune's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"It's a rough world out there, y'know. She's seen a side of it that you and I will never understand. If it's any consolation, it really did help. Some of the Faunus are a bit trigger-happy back at camp. Her coming on board made your motley crew friends of the White Fang, not just cargo. It's what got you enough trust that we could work out homes for the refugees you brought along."

Jaune smiled at him weakly.

"You're not so bad for a crook, Roman," he muttered.

Torchwick drew himself back in affront, and spread his arms wide.

"Not so bad?" he exclaimed. "I'm an excellent crook! Who else could smuggle nearly twenty human immigrants into Vale with all the right papers and the support of the White Fang, eh?"

Jaune couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Speaking of papers," he began. Torchwick flicked a small object through the air. Jaune caught it in a deft movement, snatching it by the tip of his fingers.

"That's a Scroll. ID, passport, phone, and personal utility device of oh-so-many functions. Check out your transcripts," said Torchwick.

Jaune pulled it open, and thumbed through various menus, eventually coming across the right one. He scanned the words illuminated on the device and frowned, flicking a corner to change the page a few times.

"I thought you were going to get me papers to enroll me into Beacon?" he asked quizzically. "This is just my life history. Orphaned survivor, wandered the wilderness, saved refugees and brought them to Vale. No mention of your involvement, of course."

"The best lies are founded in truth. I already told you that you're good enough to get in, didn't I?" asked Torchwick.

"Don't you need to attend a combat school, though? I'm not finding any grade transcripts. I won't get into an Academy without graduating from school, even if I can kill an Ursa the size of your ego," quipped Jaune.

The engines of the Bullhead roared suddenly, and both Jaune and Torchwick stumbled at the sudden change in direction. They both made their way up front, to the cockpit. Jaune collapsed into the co-pilot's chair while Torchwick gripped onto the doorframe to steady himself.

"There's an entrance exam. You passed with flying colours. Check the green icon."

"Ah," said Jaune. "Looks like I nearly failed History and Weapon Crafting?" he asked.

"Ever read a history book or made a weapon?" asked Torchwick, rolling his eyes.

"I could catch up on studying while I'm there. What If those scores mean I don't make the cut?" asked Jaune worriedly. Torchwick cuffed him on the back of the head chidingly. "Hey!" cried Jaune. Torchwick smirked.

"What did I say just five minutes ago about the best lies having truth in them? Don't get ahead of yourself. Besides, do you really think, when it comes down to it, that a Hunter Academy is going to care about whose grandaddy killed whose grandaddy more than how you handle yourself in a fight?"

"Next time I won't have a White Fang fire-team backing me up," said Jaune.

"Only a phone call away, kiddo," said Torchwick.

Jaune gaped.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"I meant it when I said I'd watch your back if you watch mine. Don't call a squad in unless it's life or death, though. Consorting with terrorists is probably grounds for extra homework, and I'm not convinced you can read or write properly," joked Torchwick.

"That's...actually true," admitted Jaune. Not much call for writing essays in the wilderness. I guess I'm a bit rusty."

"So you want to admit that I chose the right History grade for you, then?"

Jaune glared at Torchwick.

"Why would I want to tell you that you're always right when you're constantly doing it yourself?"

"Because I'm always right," said Torchwick, a smile dancing about his lips.

Jaune didn't reply.

"Yeah, thought so," said Torchwick smugly. "But seriously, don't worry. You'll be put in a team of four after your initiation test, based on how well you work together. It's a basic survival exercise in a forest full of Grimm."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it," commented Jaune.

Torchwick shrugged.

"I have a bet going with my employer that you'll make leader of your team, so I had to do a bit of espionage work for the sake of my bank balance."

"Any tips?" asked Jaune.

"First person you encounter in the test is your partner. You'll be matched with another pair based on how you complete the task you're assigned. I couldn't get the details. Ozpin shakes it up every year so nobody can tattle and let the new students cheat."

"Except for us?"

"I'm not a big fan of following the rules, if you hadn't noticed," said Torchwick. "It's up to you who you go for as a partner. Grab the first you see and finish the test quickly, or scope out the others and find someone tough."

"Any real advice?" asked Jaune sarcastically.

The pilot of the Bullhead, who'd previously been silent, snickered at his comment. Torchwick thumped him on the head and sighed.

"And he was doing so well as a silent pawn," he moaned. "I hate it when my minions get uppity."

"Glad I'm not a minion," said Jaune dryly, but with the sneaking suspicion that he was being groomed to become one.

"Of course not! I'll prove it to you - make the leader position, and I'll split the winnings."

"Sounds good to me," said Jaune. "But you still haven't given me any real advice."

"Avoid the younger girl in a red hood. Carries a ridiculous scythe for a weapon. Completely obnoxious. Strong in a fight, but a pain in the ass. The heir to the Schnee dust company is in your group. Buddy up to her and you could make some profitable connections for us."

"This all sounds like advice for Roman Torchwick, not for me," muttered Jaune.

"You know what?" said Torchwick rhetorically. "You don't want to listen to my advice. It's fine. I get it. But here are your three choices: pick a weaker team so you get the top spot. Pick a strong team so you'll perform better later on, but might have to play subordinate. Or just let the chips fall where they may."

"I'm thinking I'll just do a damn good job instead of gaming the system, and earn the top spot that way," said Jaune, poking Torchwick in the forehead.

"Have it your way, weirdo," whined Torchwick. "Pilot, open the bulkhead doors!"

The doors opened with a creak of grating metal. Wind rushed in with deafening force, pushing Jaune out of his chair. Torchwick grinned.

"This is practice for the first part of your initiation. Develop a landing strategy!" he shouted over the wind.

"What?" exclaimed Jaune, only to be interrupted by Torchwick's boot landing square in his chest, and sending him flying out the open door.

Air rushed upwards around Jaune, who frantically tried to get his bearings. They had reached Vale, and it was rapidly approaching. He tried to angle his descent so that he'd land in the harbour, but as the ground grew closer, he realised that he was way too far inland to aim for the water and groaned.

He spared a moment to look at the sheath of Crocea Mors. The golden sigils of his Beowulf and Ursa still shone there, embossed in the metal.

"I wish I had a Nevermore," he complained bitterly, before activating his Aura at full strength.

The ground zoomed up at him rapidly. He pulled out his shield, and angled his body so that it would bear the brunt of the impact. Even with his Aura, he suspected he was looking at a broken arm, but then there was suddenly no more time to contemplate his situation. The ground was far too close for him to think up a plan - but then he saw it and grinned. Just below him was a busy main road, but, more importantly, a double-decker bus emblazoned with advertising posters was approaching his point of impact. He angled himself just so, and struck it in the perfect position.

With a screech of tearing metal, he landed in the middle of the road, catching a glancing blow on the edge of his target bus. His shield caught in the metal frame of the vehicle, tearing a deep gouge down the side of it, but, thankfully, slowing his descent. Sparks shot out from the tear in the side of the bus, but at least by catching the edge instead of plowing through the roof, he'd managed to avoid squashing any hapless commuters.

At last he hit the ground, his arm aching, but grinning widely. Adrenaline and elation flooded his body as he looked at the destruction he had wrought: a savage tear through the smirking visage of Torchwick's mugshot. Given the precarious angle of his descent, he'd actually managed to decapitate the smug bastard on his wanted poster.

Jaune looked up to where the Bullhead hovered overhead, and waved cheerily at Torchwick's distant figure. The aircraft was too high up for him to make out Torchwick's return gesture, but he could see that it involved one hand, and could guess that it involved one finger.

He grinned. Petty vandalism was fun, especially when it involved your friends.

And then the sirens started.

On reflection, Jaune decided that it was significantly easier to give cops the slip than it was a pack of rampaging Grimm. He didn't much fancy ending his illustrious career as a Hunter before even trying out his shiny new fake ID, though, so he put his full effort into running around the corner and hiding on a second-floor fire escape.

He could hear the occupants bustling about inside, so he pressed himself flat against the wall in order to not be seen through the window.

It was exactly then, as he was being still and silent as he could possibly be, than his Scroll began to give off an irritating jangle. He flipped it open to see the grinning face of the only person who could possible have his contact information.

"Alright, so you cut my head clean off just after I'd told you how much I liked those posters, but I'll give you a free pass on this one because I just love watching the ants scurry around the chaos in your wake," chirruped Torchwick from the small screen.

Jaune growled and unsheathed his weapon, placing the tip of Crocea Mors between Roman's eyes.

"If you die in a video transmission, do you die in real life?" he asked sardonically.

"Put your shiny phallic metaphor away, you grumpy brat. I can't see the look on your face. It's hilarious," said Torchwick.

Jaune put the sword away. Not because Torchwick had said so, but because holding a weapon in public when hiding from the police was definitely not the smartest move.

"I'll give you points for style, though. That really was your practice run. The Beacon initiation test begins with an air-drop into a forest infested with Grimm. One last tip before you head to the airship. It leaves in twenty minutes. Don't be late."

"That's a little hard when the streets are swarming with cops looking for me," snapped Jaune.

"No they're not," chided Torchwick. "They're looking for the body of a man who fell out of the sky. Slip a few streets away from where you landed to be safe, then you're free as a bird. One without wings. A penguin, or something. But free!"

"You kicked me out of an airborne Bullhead!" complained Jaune.

"Yeah, kid, I know. I was there. And then you decapitated me. We're even. If anything, you owe me for giving you the warning about your test. Stop your bitching and run off before you miss the flight," said Torchwick. "I'm sending the coordinates to your Scroll now."

Jaune ended the transmission by closing his Scroll and ignoring the incoming map transmission. Torchwick was an ass, but he couldn't help himself from smiling. But still, even if Jaune's flying abilities weren't that great, he at least knew how to read road signs, so he set off away from the main road at a fast walk.

Five minutes later he was completely lost, and very much aware that he'd not been to Vale in seven years. But he wasn't going to take Torchwick's directions for help, so he slipped into a nearby store to ask for directions.

Without even looking at the sign, he pushed the door open and entered. A large man with thick black sideburns looked up at him and smiled.

"Welcome to Tukson's Book Trade, home to every book under the sun!" greeted the shopkeeper cheerfully.

"Uh, hi," replied Jaune awkwardly. "I'm a new student at Beacon, but it's my first time in Vale. Could you give me directions to the airfield?"

"Sure thing," replied Tukson. "End of the street, left twice, and just keep going on until you hit Vytal Square. There are signposts from there. Of course, I've got some tourists maps for only 3 Lien if you'd like some reference material as well," he said, jokingly.

"No, that's alright," said Jaune, a little sheepishly. He felt bad for asking for help but not buying anything, but he was in a rush, and felt like he'd have plenty of time to explore Vale on his own. He turned to leave, but something by the door caught his eye. "Actually," he began, trailing off.

Tukson raised an eyebrow.

"See something you fancy?"

"How much for these?" Jaune asked, pointing to a stack of X-Ray and Jay comic books. Tukson let out a hearty laugh.

"They're five Lien each, but tell you what, we've got in a collection of volumes one through ten, all in one hardback edition. Thirty Lien for that one, or seventy for the collector's edition with accompanying art book and collectibles."

Jaune rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

"Ah, I shouldn't spend too much money on my first day in Vale," he said. Subconsciously, he reminded himself that his funds were limited to the handful of Lien he'd won from Torchwick and some White Fang grunt in a game of poker. Torchwick had been using him to cheat, and split the difference after the game had ended. Unless he made the leader spot on his time and got another set of winnings from Torchwick's shady bets, this money had to last him at least a little while.

"Suit yourself. Standard edition it is. No, leave that one on the shelf. I've got some in the back still in their wrapping. No sticky fingerprints from kids who treat this place like a library, right?" Tukson barked a laugh, and disappeared into the back of the store.

Jaune checked the time on his Scroll nervously. Shit. Ten minutes to go.

"Here you go," declaimed Tukson a minute or two later. "I've thrown in the map for free, 'cause I can't stand that lost puppy look on your face. Better run if you want to make the ship!"

"Thanks!" shouted Jaune, dropping the correct handful of bills on the countertop and dashing out the door with his new purchases.

Thanks to Tukson's generosity and only a dozen consultations of the map, Jaune made it to the airship just in time. He charged onto the ramp at breakneck speed, and slammed full-tilt into the back of one of his new classmates.

He fell over, landing on his backside with a muffled groan.

"Oh goodness, are you okay?" exclaimed the girl he'd just plowed into. Jaune looked up to meet a pair of startling green eyes - and red hair. He froze in panic for a moment, remembering Torchwick's warning. Then he looked her up and down, seeing no sign of a hood, and let out a sigh of relief.

The girl reached out a hand to help him up.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"I'm so sorry," she said. Jaune gave her a startled expression.

"What for? I'm the one who ran into you. Although usually when I run into people, they're the ones who fall over," he added under his breath."

"I should have moved out of your way," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Jaune. "I was the one who wasn't paying attention. So I'm the one who gets to say sorry."

"Alright," she said, smiling. "Go on then."

"Um. Sorry I didn't notice you? I'd apologise for hurting you, but I'm guessing I'm the only one with any bruises here," Jane said, smiling awkwardly in an attempt to ease the tension - which only he was feeling.

"It's not a big deal," she said. "I was expecting somebody would try to test my strength sooner or later. Although I'd hoped to make it to school before being ambushed," she said, letting out a mournful sigh.

"Wait, what?" asked Jaune. "Why would somebody want to ambush you?"

"To see if they could beat the invincible girl, Pyrrha Nikos, of course," she said bitterly.

Jaune frowned.

"I'm guessing that makes you Pyrrha, then?" he asked.

Pyrrha gave him a suspicious look.

"You don't know who I am?"

"Should I?" he shot back.

"I - well, I don't think I've met anyone who doesn't," she said, suddenly looking as awkward as Jaune felt. "You really just ran into me because you were clumsy and in a hurry?" she demanded, suddenly fierce.

"Why else would I ram into somebody I'd just met?" asked Jaune, bewildered.

"Oh," she said, a thoughtful expression blossoming on her face. "That's...interesting." She beamed at him. "It was nice to meet you!"

"I'm Jaune," he said, as Pyrrha turned to leave.

"And I'm Pyrrha," she replied. "But I already told you that. Check a cereal box if you forget!" she called over her shoulder, walking away.

Jaune stared after her. That was beyond peculiar. And he had no idea what she had to do with cereal.

The twinge in his gut warned him of the airship's engines starting up even before he heard them. Now that he knew what to expect, he activated the subtle level of Aura he'd used on the Bullhead earlier, and flopped into a chair in the middle of the airship.

A girl with black hair decorated with a bow sat next to him, reading. She gave a hiss of annoyance as he took the chair next to her, obviously expecting her book to be interrupted by this unwelcome intruder. Jaune felt a touch guilty at not paying more attention to where he'd chosen to sit, as there were plenty of these plush cream armchairs in the centre of the ship.

She flashed him an irritated look, furthering his guilt, but piquing his interest. Her eyes were yellow, slitted like a cat's. Huh. A Faunus. He doubted he'd have recognised the sign if he hadn't just spent a week with the White Fang. He'd made a game of trying to spot the manifestations of their animal traits. Some of them were as obvious as tails and horns, while others could pass for human without a strip-search. None of the Faunus whose traits he couldn't figure out had volunteered for that, though.

Jaune pointedly looked away from her. He had no intention of making a scene when she obviously wanted to be left alone with her book. As he turned his head he caught Pyrrha glancing furtively in his direction. He groaned. Minutes aboard the airship, and he'd probably already pissed off two of his future classmates. This was not a good beginning.

He wished that he could bury his head in a book like the girl beside him, but the idea of pulling out a comic book next to a pretty girl reading a novel with whole sentences and no pictures reminded him of his childish reading ability. Torchwick was right. That was going to make homework a pain.

Instead, he turned his attention to the screen overhead, blazing news from a gigantic television.

He watched a reporter denounce Torchwick as scum, and struggled to suppress a smile, especially when he almost got a cameo himself.

"And perhaps it's not just the police force who tire of notorious criminal Roman Torchwick's incessant Dust robberies. A vigilante fell from the sky in an unexpected attack on one of the many posters calling for Torchwick's arrest. Diving from several hundred feet, the unknown person is presumed to be a Hunter given their ability to survive such an attack, severing Torchwick's posted visage in half. Is this poster's decapitation intended as a threat from a Hunter tired of the rising price of Dust interfering in their abilities to fight Grimm? Was it born of a more personal offence? Will it lead to a similar act against Torchwick himself? This reporter, and the police force of Vale, urge this lone aggressor to come forward and share any information they have about this dangerous criminal. Any information could help the authorities apprehend this menace to our city."

Jaune snorted, and took a picture of the shattered image of Torchwick on the bus, intending to send it to him later.

After a moment of fiddling with his Scroll, which was still unfamiliar to him, he managed to get the image send across. He grinned

His good mood suddenly dropped as the reporter moved onto a new story about the White Fang. It wasn't news so much as a reminder of the fact that they existed, but Jaune slumped his head into his hands and moaned with regret.

"Damn it, Sienna. Why did you have to go and join them?" he whispered under his breath,

The snap of a book closing abruptly snapped him out of his self-indulgent regret.

"You know someone who joined the White Fang?" asked the girl next to him sharply, a dangerous expression on her face.

"Damn Faunus hearing," Jaune grumbled. The girl's expression immediately dovetailed into panic.

"What? I'm not - what are you trying to say?" she demanded hotly.

"Oh, calm down. I have nothing against Faunus," Jaune said hastily. "I just don't like that I lost a friend to the White Fang. Or the reasons why."

"Were her reasons not good enough for your human sensibilities?" demanded the girl. Jaune gave her an odd look. Her words were aggressive, but there was an unusual note of irony, not anger in her voice. He supposed that most Faunus didn't see eye to eye with the White Fang either, regardless of what the organisation was fighting for.

"She only joined up to help me. And some friends. We stumbled into a White Fang hideout and had more guns pointing at us than you'd see in a bad action movie. She convinced them that she wanted to join up, and we could be trusted not to spill their secrets," Jaune said bitterly.

"The White Fang would never trust a human."

Jaune rolled his eyes, thinking back to Torchwick.

"You'd be surprised what people will do when their back's against the wall," he said.

"No I wouldn't," murmured Blake forlornly. She was silent for a moment then turned a fierce glare on Jaune. Her yellow eyes almost seemed to glow with determination. "Don't tell anyone what I am," she pleaded. The plea had an undertone of "or else" to it. Jaune hadn't planned on shouting it from the rooftops when she was so blatantly trying to hide, but her strong reaction drove him to poke a little deeper.

"Why not?" he asked, only to raise his hands in protest as she tightened hers into white-knuckled fists. "Whoa, there. I'm not going to tell someone else's secrets. But why are you hiding who you are?"

The girl sighed, and looked at her hands, clenched in her lap over her fallen book.

"Because I don't want people to see a Faunus. I want them to see Blake," she said wistfully.

"You look like both to me, Blake," said Jaune quietly. "But I'll keep your secret."

"Thank you," she said, letting out a sigh of relief. Her fists unclenched, and Jaune could see tension leave her whole body. The pressure of the moment passed, and then Blake suddenly smirked. "By the way, why is Pyrrha Nikos staring at you?"

Jaune looked over in the direction Blake was pointing. So she was. The redhead with cereal issues looked away quickly, and Jaune shrugged. Had he pissed the resident celebrity off that much by not recognising her, or was it just his clumsiness that had drawn her ire?

"I accidentally ran into her earlier. Does everybody know who she is?"

"Of course," replied Blake. "I grew up outside the kingdoms and even I heard about her tournament matches. They call her the Invincible Girl."

"Huh," said Jaune eloquently. "I grew up outside the kingdoms too. Since I was ten, anyway."

Blake gave him a curious look.

"Not many people would choose to leave the kingdoms. I was born outside them, so I didn't have much choice, but I can't imagine many people willingly moving out."

Jaune laughed bitterly.

"My parents were hunters. They took me and two of my sisters with them on a routine assignment to protect a village from Beowulf attacks."

Blake remained silent, staring at Jaune assessingly.

He met her gaze and rolled her eyes. It was obvious what she wanted to ask, but also that she wasn't going to. Jaune actually appreciated the gesture. Too many people had a habit of demanding answers for how and why his life had unfolded the way it did, and it wasn't his favourite topic.

"Yeah, you guessed right. I was the only one to get away. Seven years in the wilderness made for a hell of a combat school," he said, skimming over most of the details. He figured his new Faunus friend had guessed all the important points. Well, except for Torchwick and the necromantic Grimm semblance, but he felt like keeping those under wraps for now.

"I thought I'd be the only one here who didn't come from a combat school," Blake mused.

Inwardly, Jaune was surprised that she didn't question him more about his spending seven years wandering outside the kingdoms, but he was thankful. He got the feeling that she was a lot like him in that she wouldn't appreciate somebody prying into her past, so he didn't ask about her training despite his curiosity.

"Looks like we're there," said Jaune," changing the subject.

Blake stood silently, walking over to the massive windows. Jaune joined her.

"So this is Beacon," he marvelled.

"Our new home for three years," Blake added.

"Or until they learn about our affiliation with the White Fang," Jaune joked. Blake immediately narrowed her eyes in anger.

And that suggested something Jaune hadn't even considered. Was she one of them, he wondered? He didn't dare ask. Maybe she opposed them and resented the idea of being involved with them. This fledgling camaraderie seemed liked he might have actually made his first friend at Beacon, and he didn't want to risk that on accusing her of belonging to a terrorist group. It's not like his circle of acquaintances were squeaky clean either, he thought, reminiscing about the past week with Torchwick, who he actually kind of liked, when he wasn't pushing him out of a Bullhead. Blake glared for a moment longer, but then her expression softened.

"Don't even joke about that. Or what I am. If the wrong person hears, they might not find it as funny as you do," she murmured warningly.

"Why admit what you are to me if it's a secret?" wondered Jaune aloud.

Blake cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Because I can already tell you're an idiot who jokes about these things. Now you know not to joke about it, so there's no risk of anybody hearing you. I'll bite off your fingers if I hear you even kidding about me hiding kitty ears under this bow," she said, deathly serious.

Jaune met her eyes for as long as he could without blinking, and then looked away, slightly concerned about how sincere her threat had sounded. And then he burst out laughing. Kitty ears! In such a threatening voice, too. He wondered if she actually had cat ears, or it was just an example of him joking around. He resolved to find out as soon as he got the chance. Torchwick would be proud of him, planning to get a girl alone and rip off her clothing, never mind the fine detail.

"Okay, okay," he protested. "My lips are sealed. School hasn't even started yet and I've already made an enemy of you and Pyrrha Nikos."

"I'm not your enemy if you keep your mouth shut," said Blake. She smirked, and patted Jaune on the head. "If we gagged you we might even be friends."

"A gag and one enemy is bad enough," Jaune grumbled.

"You really are an idiot," said Blake.

"What? Why?" demanded Jaune.

"I'm the one that Pyrrha Nikos is glaring at, not you," she replied.

"That doesn't make any sense! I'm the one who ran into her and insulted her by not recognising her!" Jaune exclaimed. "I don't know why she'd be glaring at you."

"You're right, it doesn't make any sense," said Blake, rolling her eyes. "But at least I know why."

"Tell me?" pleaded Jaune.

"Not a chance," said Blake, smiling evilly. "But I'll give you a hint - it's all your fault."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Alright, I couldn't help it. Since I wrote the ending for Chapter Five tonight, I couldn't resist uploading something to FFnet. Thanks for all your reviews and encouragement so far - and yes, I'm aware that Grimm don't have souls. I'm using the word as a bit of a deliberate misnomer in places, until I find an alternative.  
_

Beacon was an impressive sight, even more so from the ground than the air. Down here, everything looked so big. Resplendent with tall white buildings, verdant grounds, and a tower that looked straight out of a storybook, it was beyond anything Jaune had ever associated with the word school.

He had to hand it to Torchwick, he had as much style in choosing schools as he did clothes. Although the thought made Jaune remember how ludicrous he'd looked when he'd tried on one of Torchwick's suits, and he cringed. Blake noticed his sudden movement and watched him wordlessly.

When he straightened up and pretended that nothing had happened, she took it in stride, and they both started down the main path from the airship to the school entrance. They exchanged a few words, but the journey mostly took place in comfortable silence.

Jaune and Blake were not much closer to the school than the airship when an explosion rocked the air. They exchanged looks, and then simultaneously turned to see what was going on.

It was not, as Jaune had assumed, a stray missile. A girl in a red hood stood, blushing the colour of her clothing, while a pale girl with far too much luggage berated her.

"Uh oh," said Jaune, remembering Torchwick's warning about girls in red hoods. Something rolled over towards them, and struck his foot. He looked down. A bottle of Dust? He gave Blake a quizzical expression, but for a moment, he could swear he saw her eyes tighten in hastily suppressed anger.

"Schnee," she muttered.

"The Dust company?" asked Jaune, having heard of them even deep in the wilderness. Remote villagers still bought from the big brands, after all. They just paid a hell of a lot more in shipping costs. Even postcards could set you back a week's rent when you had to hire a Hunter to deliver it to you.

"Yes," said Blake, picking up the bottle and walking over to the bickering girls.

"Schnee Dust. So you must be Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company."

"Hmph," said Weiss. "At least somebody here knows who I am!" she exclaimed huffily. Jaune noticed Blake's bow twitch. He grinned. Annoyed kitty ears! It had to be.

"Everybody knows the Schnee Company," said Blake. "Famous as the world's largest source of energy propellant - and its controversial labour forces. Not to mention some questionable business partners," she added.

Weiss scowled.

As her eyes narrowed, it suddenly brought the scar decorating her left eye into sharp relief. Jaune marvelled at the single line on otherwise perfect features. It wasn't so much that she was beautiful - although she was - it was the fact that in every other aspect she was completely immaculate. There wasn't a speck of dust on her pristine white dress, and not a single hair was out of place.

He didn't imagine she'd be able to keep that up for long at a school like Beacon, where combat was graded higher than homework.

Weiss snatched the bottle of Dust from Blake and flounced off without another word.

"Wait!" cried the redhead in the hood. "I'm really sorry! I'll make this up to you, I swear!"

Blake smirked.

"Do you think she practiced storming off in a huff?" she asked Jaune. He rolled his eyes.

"A little princess like her? Probably got a rehearsal in every time Daddy didn't buy her the right present," he joked.

The redhead turned on them, looking dejected at first, but quickly changing to anger.

"Hey!" she complained. "Don't be mean. Just because someone's having a hard day doesn't give you the right to say horrible things behind their back." She glared at them with such sincerity that Jaune was taken aback. He was also impressed. She was defending a girl who'd clearly been so unpleasant to her only moments before.

Jaune smiled at her disarmingly, and the redhead's glare faltered. He decided to ignore Torchwick's warning. This particular redhead, so eager to stand up for someone she'd just had an argument with, must surely be a different little girl in a red hood than the one Torchwick had been moaning about on several occasions last week.

"Looks like you're both having a rough start to the new term," he said in a friendly voice. "My name's Jaune. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Ruby," she replied eagerly, grabbing his proffered hand and squeezing it. Jaune winced. She was a lot stronger than her tiny size suggested.

Blake didn't say anything, and from the way he could see her eyes flickering in the direction of the main path, he guessed she wanted to get on with finding their way to the assembly. Jaune nudged her.

"Blake," she said, after only a momentary pause. And then stepped just a fraction too hard on Jaune's foot in her high-heeled shoe. It struck the top of his boot with a clang, rather than the whimper she'd likely been hoping for. She raised an eyebrow at him.

Jaune wondered if this habit of her asking questions silently was going to become a nuisance. At least he'd been able to read her well enough so far.

"Dust in my shoelaces," he explained. "Stops them from coming undone and tripping me mid-battle, and forms a handy protection matrix against minor attacks."

"Your shoes are a weapon?" squealed Ruby, suddenly the epitome of excitement. Jaune smiled at her open enthusiasm, but shook his head.

"Nah, it's just a convenient side-effect. I got the Dust-laces to stop them coming untied when I didn't want them to," he explained.

"You mean you never learned how to tie your shoelaces properly," teased Blake.

Jaune shrugged at her and grinned easily.

"A Dust seamstress made these for me after I tripped over my own feet trying to hit the Nevermore that was going after her kid. Luckily the Nevermore tripped over me, and I got a lucky strike in before it recovered."

"How does a bird trip?" asked Blake incredulously.

"They do have wings," added Ruby doubtfully."

Jaune opened his mouth to explain, but Blake clapped a hand over it.

"Nevermind," she said. "I don't even want to know. Even a school opening ceremony sounds more exciting than whatever moronic story you're about to tell."

"Aww," moaned Ruby softly. Jaune shot her a smile. She really did look like a kid. Maybe it was all the time he'd spent among people who'd had to grow up too fast, living outside the kingdoms, but he suspected that she might be a bit younger than them.

"Are you a first year at Beacon too?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to offend her by saying she looked like a little girl.

"Yep!" she exclaimed happily. "Me and Crescent Rose got into our dream school!"

"Crescent Rose?" Jaune asked, thoughtlessly. "Whoa!" he yelled, leaping backwards as she pulled an enormous red scythe out from under her cloak.

"Yep, that's my weapon. My Uncle showed me how to make her - and I added a few tweaks of my own!" she trilled.

Jaune noticed Blake step away, and wondered whether she was making a break for the school, or just retreating from the weapons-mad glow in Ruby's eyes.

"You - made that?" he croaked.

And then the dots connected.

This was exactly the girl Torchwick had mentioned. Red hair, red hood, red scythe. So far Jaune hadn't seen the pain in the ass part, but he remembered the argument with Weiss and began to feel nervous.

"Yeah!" said Ruby. "What do you have?"

"An opening ceremony to get to," said Blake dryly, turning to walk away. Half unwilling to get left behind, and half wanting to avoid Torchwick's tiny troublemaker, Jaune hurried to catch up, waving apologetically at Ruby.

"She seemed...excitable," commented Jaune.

"I noticed," replied Blake.

"She looks a bit lost," said Jaune guiltily, looking back at her. "Should we bring her with us?"

"We don't need two exploding strays," said Blake flippantly.

Jaune looked at her in confusion.

"You explode?" he asked.

"No," she stated calmly. "But you might."

Jaune wondered what she meant by that, but then decided it was best not to ask. And did it anyway.

"Why would I explode?" he asked, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "Have you seen me explode so far?"

"No," said Blake. She smiled to herself. "But I might get bored."

"If anything, you're the stray," Jaune muttered, and flicked at her bow. She grabbed his wrist before he managed to touch it, and he cursed. At first because his attempt to check for ears had been foiled, but then because she was squeezing really, really hard.

"That's the sort of behaviour which makes people explode," Blake said casually, and let go of his arm.

Jaune rubbed it ruefully.

"I wasn't going to try taking it off. I said I'd keep your secret, and I meant it."

Blake gave him a thoughtful expression, and then turned her eyes back in the direction they were walking.

"I hope so," she said softly.

The two of them walked in silence for a while longer. Jaune glanced in Blake's direction a few times, wondering if she just wasn't interested in talking to him, or was a quiet person.

"What?" she asked, at length, having noticed his surreptitious looks.

Jaune flushed guiltily, caught in the act.

"Erm, well, you see..." he began, and then gathered himself together properly. "Maybe I should ask you somewhere more private."

Blake gave him an all-too knowing smile, and shook her head.

"Don't bother. You're not my type."

Jaune groaned. Great. Cute as she was, hitting on the first friend he'd made seemed like a good way to lose that friend before the second day of school started.

"I wasn't going to ask you out," he insisted.

"Then why all the looks?" asked Blake, still wearing that smile. Jaune had to admit, it was the exact smile to match with the cliche of the cat that got the cream. She clearly didn't believe him. He snorted. Somebody had a high opinion of herself.

Well, he admitted to himself that she had reason enough to think that he was checking her out.

"You sure you don't want to go somewhere quieter for me to ask?" Jaune tried feebly. They had just entered the main auditorium of Beacon, and it was packed with students, new and old.

"You sure you don't keep sneaking looks at me?" Blake retorted.

Jaune gave in, and leaned close.

"What's under your bow?" he whispered.

Blake made a startled jump, but quickly recovered.

"Shut up about that," she hissed. "I already told you not to mention that!"

Jaune grinned happily. He was almost certain of it. Cat ears!

After Ozpin's speech, there was an orientation tour. He was split from Blake into a group of unfamiliar students, so he distracted himself by messaging Torchwick on his Scroll.

"There's a Faunus girl who hides something under a black bow. Bet you five hundred Lien that she's got cat ears," he texted.

His Scroll buzzed a few minutes later, as he trawled distractedly through the armoury where rocket-propelled weapons lockers were kept.

"Raise you a thousand that she's horny," replied Torchwick. Jaune paused, wondering whether Torchwick was wagering horns against ears or something else. Nah. He knew Torchwick. He knew what the sleazy guy meant. The realisation made him laugh quietly, but not quietly enough, earning himself a glare from the teacher who was escorting them around the school.

"That she's got horns, or that she's got cat ears and is horny?" he sent back, already knowing the answer, but more interested in chatting with Torchwick than anyone in his group. They seemed like a bunch of useless meatheads and punks more than anything.

At that moment, one of those meatheads attempted to shove Jaune into a locker. The sudden attack caught Jaune off-balance, but he managed to catch himself against the side of the next locker instead of falling into the open door. He gave a suspicious glare at the guy who'd pushed him.

The teacher immediately zoomed over, with what had to be preternatural speed.

"Mr Winchester! If you would please confine your duelling to the combat classes and the battlefield, I would very much appreciate it."

Winchester hefted his weapon, an oversized mace that was almost the size of the boy wielding it, and held it against his shoulder in a lazy but threatening pose. Jaune rolled his eyes. What an idiot.

"Sorry Professor," drawled the idiot. "I was just curious about why this scraggly little blonde was texting instead of paying attention to you."

Jaune narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but there was no need. The teacher pushed his face right up into the other boy's, slid his glasses up his nose with the top of a finger, and stared at him unblinkingly.

"That's Doctor, Cardin Winchester. Doctor Oobleck." Oobleck glanced down at Jaune's Scroll, still open to the conversation with Torchwick - and displaying said criminal's face openly. Jaune cringed. Was he going to get caught out this early, for something as stupid as this? "Ah!" cried Oobleck, startling Jaune yet again. "Mr Arc is simply keeping abreast of current events. The news of today is the history of tomorrow, as you all well know. He is to be commended!"

"He wasn't paying attention!" demanded Cardin, a sour look plastered across his face.

"He was paying enough attention to prevent himself from being pushed into a rocket-propelled locker just as I'd explained how they could be used to send objects to distant locations, Mr Winchester," snapped Oobleck. He didn't really sound too angry, but the speed of his voice gave it a certain forcefulness that demanded you listen. "Multi-tasking is a vital skill to students and Hunters alike. As student Hunters, I suggest you all learn to pay attention to your surroundings, carry out a task, and be prepared to defend yourself at any given time."

"But-" protested Cardin, but Oobleck simply sipped coffee from his thermos and stared him into submission.

Jaune took the opportunity to check Torchwick's reply.

"A thousand Lien if she has horns. A thousand Lien and a drink if she's horny."

"And how am I supposed to find that out?" typed Jaune.

"My idiot apprentice, I'm telling you that there's a drink waiting for you when you learn my masterful charm and apply it to a beautiful woman."

Jaune sighed, and put his scroll away. Torchwick had spent a lot of time attempting to educate Jaune on how to talk to girls, despite Jaune's repeated attempts to change the conversation. Apparently Torchwick regarded himself as an expert, and saw it as his duty to pass on his wisdom to Jaune, who was now surrounded by energetic young women.

His Scroll buzzed again.

"I'm assuming you wouldn't have even mentioned her to me if she wasn't good looking. There is such a thing as standards, Jaune," sent Torchwick.

First Blake, now Torchwick. Jaune gritted his teeth in annoyance. Blake had already said he wasn't her type, and he was completely fine with that, because he had no plans in that direction. Even the offer of Torchwick's drinks cabinet wasn't going to ruin that. There was nothing wrong with being platonic friends with a girl. It would be just like having a sister.

A sudden bout of melancholy washed over Jaune.

Two of his sisters had been at the village with him and his parents when the disaster had happened. He'd often wondered what became of the other five, but had no way of contacting them. Even now that he was back in the kingdoms, he didn't have a clue where to begin.

Maybe that was something he could look into between school terms. He let out a long sigh.

The tour group had moved on, and Jaune slipped away, no longer in the mood for dawdling with strangers he didn't particularly like.

"Mr Arc!" declaimed Oobleck, appearing instantaneously in front of him, and taking a long draw from his coffee. Jaune gaped in shock.

"Sorry, Doctor," he said, struggling to think of an excuse. Partly because he had no good reason to give, and partly from the sheer shock of his teacher appearing inches from his face as he tried to sneak away.

"That's quite alright, young man," chattered Oobleck animatedly, but without anything in his voice to suggest irritation. "Tours around campus aren't for everyone. I always preferred to explore on my own, myself, indeed!"

"The group didn't feel like the right place for me," admitted Jaune.

"Quite right, quite right," said Oobleck. "Glynda would have my head if she found out, but Ozpin would be right with me in saying that you should find your own path when you're feeling a little lost. The afternoon's yours, just make sure you're at the ballroom by nightfall. Feel free to explore the grounds."

Taken aback by the inexplicable gesture of generosity from a teacher, Jaune simply stared, speechless.

"Just don't make me regret this by turning up late to my class because you can't find the way, hmm?" suggested Oobleck maliciously.

Jaune chuckled nervously.

"I'll just follow one of my classmates. Probably from one of the other tour groups," he said.

"It would be unprofessional of me to agree with your course of action, Mr Arc," said Oobleck. And then he smiled over his thermos and disappeared with a rush of displaced air.

Jaune's head was reeling from the bizarre encounter, so he took Oobleck's advice and wandered away from the school, into one of the many courtyards.

As everyone was exploring the buildings at present, he was completely alone outside. He sat down on the grass and sighed in relief. It was an unimaginable pleasure to be alone again after so long in a crowd of unfamiliar and unwelcoming faces.

He wondered if Blake was as uncomfortable in her tour group as he'd been in his.

Well, he still had one friend around. And this time there were no witnesses, so when he pulled out his Scroll, he called Torchwick, rather than sending a message.

"You know, kid, I'm busy running a hectic operation here, and you keep texting me about girls," said Torchwick in an amused tone.

"I know that you're just sitting at your desk and pointing your cane in the direction you want the cargo moved, Roman," shot back Jaune. "As bored watching grunts carry crates as I was in a school tour."

Laughter came through the Scroll, and Jaune couldn't help but give an abashed smile, even though Torchwick couldn't see him.

"True enough. I suppose I can give you some advice on women in exchange for entertaining me," said Torchwick.

Jaune growled.

"I'm not interested in Blake that way, so cut it out. I just want to know what she's hiding under that bow," he said.

"I suppose I wouldn't let things go if I knew half a secret either," Torchwick agreed. "So. Have you given any thought to my suggestions?"

"Which ones?" asked Jaune, rattling through a list of a hundred little ways that Torchwick had instructed Jaune to improve his odds of success at Beacon, in combat, and in everyday life.

"Your Grimm."

Jaune was silent.

"You'd better have given this some thought. It's a game-changer, you know that," said Torchwick. "Once you let everybody know, they'll never forget. But the best weapon is a secret one. Not to mention you need to learnt to fight on your own, or you'll never stand a chance against a Hunter."

It was completely true. Jaune and Torchwick had spent long hours discussing his combat skills, which were significant if he brought his Grimm into play, but only talented for a first year at Beacon without them. Not to mention the ways his classmates might react if he started summoning Grimm around them, even if they were gold instead of black.

"Yeah," said Jaune. "I've decided to use them."

Torchwick let out a groan.

"Let me finish!" Jaune complained. "I'll fight in combat class with a sword and shield. So far as anyone knows, that's all I'll have. But I'll fight Grimm with Grimm."

"That actually makes sense," said Torchwick grudgingly. "You'll learn to fight Hunters on your own, and you'll fight fire with fire when you're against monsters for real. But you know that you'll be on a team when you take missions. No way can you hide it from them."

"I'll keep the Grimm hidden until I can trust whoever I ended up with," said Jaune. "Or until it's the only way I can get out of a situation alive."

"It'll come out eventually. They're too damn big and shiny to hide among the other Grimm, kid. Listen, I've got to go shout at some crook who loaned me terrible minions. They all got taken out by that brat in a hood and landed in jail. I'm going to see if he can afford to give me the refund I deserve after paying their bail. You just can't get good help, can you?" asked Torchwick rhetorically.

Jaune choked back a laugh, and decided not to mention that he'd met Ruby at Beacon. Torchwick was friendly enough with him, but he didn't want to paint a target on Ruby's back. Despite their unexpected camaraderie, he had never forgotten who Torchwick was, or what he was capable of.

It worried Jaune that he could be friends with a man like that.

He pulled his mind away from Torchwick, and onto the topic of their conversation. There was a reason he'd sought out this secluded spot, and it wasn't just to chat with Vale's Most Wanted.

With a practiced gesture, he summoned his Beowulf. It appeared, same as before.

Jaune placed his hand on its mask, and absorbed its Aura back into himself, dispelling the Grimm.

Now he repeated the gesture, focusing more Aura into his summoning. Two appeared this time. He quickly dispelled them, and repeated it a third time, channeling as much power as he could into his Semblance.

But no. Nothing. Two was the most he could summon. He dispelled them back into Crocea Mors, and studied the sigils on his sheath.

Two masks. One Beowulf, one Ursa. He'd only summoned the Ursa once, as a test. It had turned out to be the size of a normal Grimm, not the monster he'd slain. He theorised that it would grow in power as he did - and perhaps also as he collected the souls of more Grimm. No, that wasn't quite right. Grimm had no souls.

Whatever animus it was that provided life for a Grimm, he could overcome it and absorb it through his Semblance, and then summon those Grimm under his control. He'd known this for years, but the Ursa had led to some new developments.

Now that he could summon two types of Grimm, he could summon two Beowolves at once. But only one Ursa. There was a certain sort of sense to it. Ursa got bigger as they grew more powerful, but Beowolves hunted in larger packs. He suspected he'd be able to summon a third Beowulf if he managed to capture a third species of Grimm.

The Ursa alone was more powerful, but after years of fighting as a team with his Beowulf partner, Jaune had a feeling that co-ordinated team-work was every bit a match for brute power.

A bell tolled overhead, signalling dusk, and Jaune sheathed Crocea Mors at his hip.

Perhaps this meant he'd have two teams: one of Grimm and one of Hunters. Tomorrow would tell.

Following Oobleck's instructions, Jaune headed towards the ballroom where the new intake of students was bedding down to sleep.

The ballroom was full of Jaune's new schoolmates. There must have been at least a hundred people sprawled around in various stages of undress. He rolled his eyes at the topless boys trying to impress with their muscles, and tried not to let his gaze linger too long on any of the girls in racier nightclothes.

He padded about the room, trying to find a spot to lay down his sleeping bag. Everywhere was full, but there were also plenty of gaps. The problem was that they were gaps between clusters of friends, already talking and joking. Jaune didn't feel like being the only one sitting by himself.

As he turned a corner, salvation presented itself in the form of Blake. She was sitting up against the wall with her legs tucked neatly underneath herself, reading a book. She didn't look up as he approached.

"Hey Blake," he said.

She lowered the book, and met his eyes dispassionately.

"Oh, it's you," she answered. Jaune felt himself wilt. He guessed that there was a reason why she had a much wider space to herself than most students. But then she gave him a wicked smile. "You look like a kicked puppy. Sit down, you silly boy."

Jaune dropped next to her, and sat in the same position, his back against the wall. Her bow twitched. Jaune's eyes flickered up to it and back.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She gave him a startled look, obviously unaware of how he'd caught her flicker of emotion.

"It's nothing, really. I just can't read when somebody can see over my shoulder," she explained.

Jaune felt guilty. He'd just plopped down right next to her without a thought for her comfort. And now that he thought about it, he was sitting really close to her. They were practically touching. He felt lucky she hadn't called him out on the massive invasion of personal space.

"Sorry," he said, smiling worriedly. "Want me to move over a bit?"

Blake was silent, and just looked him in the eyes for a while.

"No," she said at last. "I invited you to sit down, didn't I?"

"I thought you'd be the type to prefer your own company," Jaune admitted. "Even before I saw you reading by yourself over here."

Blake smiled softly.

"Yeah, I usually do my own thing." She let out a heavy sigh. When Jaune shot her a quizzical look, she rested her head on his shoulder. "It was a really good book," she said mournfully.

The warmth of her cheek on his shoulder sent a shudder through Jaune, and he was intimately aware of the soft black hair brushing against his arm.

"Do you read much?" he asked lamely, in an attempt to distract himself from the cute girl using him as a pillow.

"Whenever I get the chance. Most of my luggage allowance was used on books," she confessed. "I hope there's enough room in my dorm to fit them all. I didn't have anywhere to leave them behind, and I couldn't bear the thought of giving them away."

Jaune smiled upon hearing that. He'd never had much in the way of possessions. Living on the road meant travelling light. Only Crocea Mors had stayed with him throughout his journeys. He couldn't even remember what it was like to feel attached to something like that, but the warmth in Blake's voice as she talked about her hobby kindled distant memories of having things which belonged to him - and which he belonged to. Nostalgia took him over for a moment, and he stroked Blake's hair affectionately, but thoughtlessly.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Jaune froze, caught in the act.

"Uh - sorry," he stammered. "Your hair was spilling all over me, and it just felt so nice, you know, so I wanted to touch it, but I wasn't thinking straight, and I know I shouldn't have -" he was interrupted by Blake putting a finger to his lips, ending his garbled apology.

"It's okay," she said, sounding amused. "It's nice. You just surprised me."

Jaune let out a sigh of relief, and carefully folded his hands in his lap where they could do no damage.

Blake poked him in the side.

"Don't start something you're not going to finish," she teased.

And suddenly Jaune was confused as all hell, but happy about it. Now he had permission! He continued stroking Blake's hair, and she nuzzled her head into his shoulder.

"That feels nice," she said quietly.

"Worth putting a book down for?" Jaune joked.

"Nearly," replied Blake. "But I guess your company makes up the difference, so I forgive your intrusion." She sighed wistfully into his shoulder. "I bought it on my way here today. The only book I own that I haven't read yet. You better appreciate it."

Jaune laughed quietly, hearing the gentleness in her voice despite her words. He felt like he really had found a friend in Blake. Some of the weariness he'd been carrying for the past seven years began to fade away, leaving him with an unusual sense of happiness and relaxation. Of home.

"I bought some books on my way to the airship today, too," he said. "Funny coincidence."

"What did you get?" asked Blake, sounding interested. Jaune cringed. This was going to be humiliating. She clearly loved to read actual novels, and here he was with a collection of comic books to help him learn how to read.

"I - ah - it's a funny story, actually," Jaune said, letting out a nervous laugh and running a hand through his hair. Now that his hand wasn't stroking Blake's hair anymore, she sat up and looked at him.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Well, here you are, an avid reader, and I bought some dumb comic books." Jaune rubbed his head abashedly. The contempt he'd feared didn't show itself, but Blake's expression lost all interest.

"Oh," she said simply. Jaune groaned inwardly. He'd known that it would put her off, and he'd said it anyway. He hated his habit of talking too much when he should be keeping his mouth shut, but it took some serious effort to stop himself. But, now that the damage was done, he decided to admit to his whole embarrassing situation. At worst she'd carry on thinking he was an illiterate idiot, but maybe something good could come of this.

"I've never read comics before," he said hastily. Blake didn't respond. Jaune sighed, and dove into his confession. "Never really read anything, actually. I wasn't a very good reader when I was ten. With Hunters for parents I spent a lot of time out of school, and they didn't have much time to teach me. My sisters helped, but they were all older and usually had other things to do."

Blake was still silent, but he had her full attention now. Her yellow eyes reflected the light, increasing the intensity of her gaze. Jaune could feel her eyes on him as if the gaze was tangible - but perhaps that was just nerves.

He let out a quick breath.

"And that's how old I was when it happened. Never had much call for reading after that, even on the rare times I stayed in a settlement for more than a few days."

Jaune quirked his lips in an awkward attempt at a smile.

"So that's why I bought them. I can't read properly. I was hoping to work my way up with something easy so I'd be able to catch up with everyone."

Blake covered her lips with a hand and laughed.

"Oh Jaune," she said, almost in a giggle, before a sombre expression took over her mirth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh about something so terrible happening to you. It's good that you're trying to think of ways around it."

"You've sort of become my best friend here at Beacon. Only friend, actually. So I was hoping that you might be willing to help," tried Jaune. "Seeing as you love books and all, and I'm, well, hopeless. Comic books might help me remember how to read simple things, but they'd do no good when it comes to textbooks and essays."

Blake shifted her weight so that she was closer to Jaune, and leaned on him instead of the wall. Still waiting nervously to hear her response, Jaune was struck speechless by her sudden move closer.

"Of course I'll help, but it'll take a lot of work to catch up seven years without failing class in the meantime," she said. Jaune was at once relieved and nervous, all over again.

"I'll never be able to read the textbooks in time," he groaned.

"True," said Blake thoughtfully, shifting her weight against him some more, trying to get comfortable. "But maybe you don't need to."

"What? How?" he asked, both desperate and hopeful.

"I'll read them to you," she said simply. Jaune gaped.

"You'd do that?" he asked weakly.

"What are friends for?" Blake asked, only to let out an undignified squeak when Jaune suddenly hugged her.

"You're amazing, Blake," he said. She turned pink, and looked away from him.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, trying to hide her reaction.

"What question?" asked Jaune, puzzled.

"What friends are for. They're for stroking my hair." Blake nestled herself against Jaune's torso this time, pushing him around a bit until he was in the right position to be a comfortable pillow.

"Sounds like a fair trade," quipped Jaune.

Blake pulled her sleeping bag over the two of them, leaving just her head and shoulders uncovered.

"Nope. I definitely got the better deal," she said, her voice muffled."

Some time later, a cheery voice interrupted their comfortable silence.

"Hel-loooo!" trilled a tall blonde girl, dragging Ruby behind her. Ruby looked a lot less enthusiastic than the other girl.

"I'm Yang, and you've already met my sister Ruby. What are your names?" she asked.

"I'm Jaune," he said.

"Blake," replied Blake curtly. Jaune could feel her tense against him, obviously unhappy at the newcomers. Was it because she was tired, or because she'd been enjoying her time with just Jaune, he wondered. He quickly shook those thoughts out of his head. She was just a bit of a loner and didn't want to be accosted by hyperactive strangers, he surmised.

"Yang, let's go," pleaded Ruby.

"Now now," said Yang. "You need to break out of your adorable little shell and make new friends!" She suddenly broke off as she got a good look at the position Jaune and Blake were in. "Ooh!" she exclaimed. "Were we interrupting something?" she asked, in a tone that was equal parts mocking and scandalous.

"No!" insisted Jaune.

"Yes," said Blake in a curt voice. She reached over for the nearby candle, and blew it out.

Yang got the hint and left, dragging Ruby in tow.

"Sorry!" called Ruby over her shoulder.

Jaune sighed. He felt rude for that little encounter, even though it had been Blake who'd effectively told them to go away.

Some time later, in the dark, and when he was sure most of the room was sleeping, given the soft snores coming from all around them, he dared to ask the question that had been on his mind since just after Blake had turned out the light.

"If I'm not your type, why are you cuddling me?" he whispered.

"You're warm," she replied. Jaune rolled his eyes, but wrapped an arm around her in return. She shifted closer to him.

"I used to share a bed with Mom," she admitted. "We only had one bedroom. After things went bad, I hated sleeping on my own. It always reminded me that she wasn't there."

"I guess you've got me now," said Jaune haplessly, not sure what to make of this new development. He supposed that his earlier confession had prompted her to open up a little, too.

Blake poked him hard in the gut. Jaune groaned in pain.

"Don't get any ideas. I know what boys are like."

"How about we forget about our genders and just be friends?" suggested Jaune.

"I like that," said Blake.

Jaune liked it too, if it meant he got to have Blake's body pressed against him like this without the mounting complications of any attempts at romance. He liked Blake, and had been wrestling with an attraction to her since they met, but both in his head and spoken aloud, he'd decided that this would be a platonic relationship.

That seemed like the best way to handle things. With so many changes in his life all happening at once, Jaune didn't think he could handle a girl on top of everything else. A friend, though? That could be just what he needed. And he got the feeling that Blake would be a much more reliable friend than Torchwick was.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This chapter has been written for a while, but a sudden breakup and overtime at work has meant that I never got around to fixing a problem scene that I needed to edit before uploading. Sorry about the delay. Hope you're all enjoying Season Three so far, and thank you so much to the lovely round number of 100 reviewers so far._

* * *

Jaune was dozing peacefully in a pile of sleeping bags and Blake when they were both lifted into the air and thrown across the room.

He let out a yelp of surprise, and landed face-down in the previously neatly stacked arrangement of last night's bedding material. Blake's reflexes were a bit sharper than his, however, and she managed to flip over in mid-air, landing in a defensive posture and scanning the room for their unseen assailant.

"Mr Arc! Miss Belladonna!" cried Professor Goodwitch, who had been using her abilities to rapidly clean the ballroom from the remnants of last night's mass slumber party. "Never in all my years as a teacher have I seen such a brazenly inappropriate display!"

"It's not what it looks like," groaned Jaune, as he clambered back onto steady feet, wiping sleep from his eyes and trying to blink himself awake.

"You were called to breakfast over an hour ago," declared Goodwitch in stentorian tones. "And told that you had that hour in which to eat, attend to your personal hygiene, and meet on the clifftop for your initiation. This is the day which will determine the course of your entire future, and you disregard it to hide in a corner - canoodling," she said, her lip curling upwards in contempt.

"We were just asleep," said Blake quietly, but firmly. Goodwitch narrowed her eyes in a glare, but Blake stared back without any sign of blinking or changing her expression.

"All the students who slept through the announcement were woken by a staff member or a friend, Miss Belladonna," said Goodwitch dangerously.

"They must have just not seen us," protested Jaune. "Like you said, we were hidden in a corner. We were fast asleep until you threw us across the room!"

Professor Goodwitch's expression softened slightly at the reminder, and Jaune wondered if she regarded treating them as telekinetic ragdolls as an apt punishment.

"Be that as it may, such behaviour is entirely inappropriate, especially in front of your entire year group," she insisted. "If you must pursue such a relationship while at this Academy, please exercise at least some discretion."

"There is no relationship between us," said Blake in a dangerous tone. Jaune flinched inwardly. Ouch. He'd decided it himself, but hearing her say it aloud like that felt almost like being turned down for a date.

"Mere friends do not typically spend a night embracing one another, Miss Belladonna," said the teacher in a harsher tone, but then she sighed. "It is no concern of mine what - activities - you fill your spare time with. But you have placed us in quite the predicament. The initiation test is set to begin in fifteen minutes. You have that time to prepare yourself as best you can. Facing Grimm on an empty stomach or without your weapon can be equally unpleasant. Do try not to be late."

Having finished speaking, Goodwitch flicked her weapon, and sent Jaune sprawling back to the floor, but this time away from the sleeping bags, which had been in excessively neat stacks before he'd landed on them. With a few gestures she fixed the mess caused by his landing, and continued tidying the room, paying Blake and Jaune no further heed.

Blake padded softly over to Jaune.

"I'm not hungry. I'm going to take a quick shower. Meet you in the armoury in ten minutes?" she asked.

Jaune turned to reveal Crocea Mors, still belted at his side, and smiled sheepishly.

"Actually I skipped the tour, so I never put it away. I'm going to try to see if there's any food left."

Blake's eyes flicked from the weapon to Jaune, and she blinked,

"So that's what the hard thing poking into my ass was when you rolled over last night," she murmured.

Jaune turned bright red, and tried to stammer out an apology. She gave him a wicked grin and tapped his sheath with the back of her nails, making the metal give off a resounding ping.

"Don't be shy," she said. "It's three and a half feet long. You didn't think I mistook it for something else, did you?" she asked teasingly.

"I thought it was the guy who was supposed to be the pervert," bit out Jaune. Blake just gave him that same smile; small, teasing, and utterly evil.

"No genders between us, remember?" she said "That rule no longer counts."

"Go have a cold shower," grumbled Jaune. "I'm too hungry to deal with being thrown twenty feet through the air by a scary witch then cope with a pervert like you."

Blake batted him on the side of his head with one hand affectionately.

"See you at the cliff in fifteen minutes, then," she said, and proceeded to sashay away in what Jaune could only guess was the direction of the showers. As he watched her walk away, his eyes trailed along the length of creamy white legs revealed by her nightgown. He blinked, and did his best to shut off that part of his mind.

"Hey, Blake!" he called over. She paused. "I hope we end up on the same team together."

"Yeah," she said softly. "That might be nice. I don't think we get to choose, though."

Jaune wasn't too disheartened. For one thing, his stomach was guiding him away from brooding thoughts and towards the cafeteria - which he had no clue how to find - and for another, he knew that they'd be sharing the same classes, so he'd still get to see Blake around the school.

He turned a corner in the endless labyrinth of corridors and sighed. His stomach growled in response.

"A little lost, young man?"

Jaune jerked in surprise, and spun around to see Professor Ozpin, head of the school. In his hand was a steaming cup of coffee, which Jaune's sleepy eyes kept being drawn to.

Ozpin sipped his coffee and chuckled.

"Glynda has already informed me of your situation. Have no fear; despite anything she may have told you, we won't begin the test without you. It's supposed to begin in five minutes," he said, and Jaune groaned at how quickly he'd lost so much of his precious time. "But you can scavenge among the debris of breakfast and see if you can find anything left. I must apologise for the rambunctious appetites of your fellow students. They assaulted that meal with the same vigour we hope to see from you all against the Grimm."

Jaune shifted from one foot to the other. His transcripts had allowed him this far, so there was no chance that Ozpin knew his secret, but he was still nervous. And not just because of that. Even in the wildest corner of Remnant you could hear stories of the truly legendary Hunters and Huntresses, an elite rank to which Ozpin belonged. This man embodied everything Jaune hoped to be.

"Eh, haha," laughed Jaune nervously. "Which way is it to breakfast? And the cliff? I think I left my brain back in that sleeping bag."

Ozpin pointed at a nearby set of double doors.

"You were so very close when you gave up," he commented wryly.

Jaune looked over, and saw that there were even windows set in the internal walls, allowing him to look in and see a large hall full of tables. Naturally, the tables were covered in greasy dishes and scraps of food.

"Way to make a killer first impression, Jaune," he muttered to himself.

Ozpin smiled good-naturedly.

"I just made a fresh pot of coffee," he said, the evidence clear in his hand. "Even if there are no Eggs Benedict or bacon left, at least you can clear some of the sleeping bag out of your brain."

"You're a lifesaver, Professor," said Jaune.

"I need to be on time, so I'm afraid I can't show you where it is, but you'll find the drinks by the boxes of cereal. I don't think anything but those boxes survived," the teacher said ruefully.

"Shouldn't I just come with you so I'm on time, then?" asked Jaune doubtfully.

Ozpin winked, and Jaune leaned back, startled by the headmaster's behaviour. He hadn't been sure what to expect, knowing only that he was brilliant but eccentric, but this man was showing a side of mischievous behaviour which almost reminded him of Roman. Well, if Roman matured a bit, and gained a great deal of respectability. But they had a similar feeling to them, despite being such different people.

More than anything, Jaune felt that Roman and Ozpin were men who were both determined to enjoy life, regardless of the rules and hiccups that may fall in the way. He smiled at the thought. Yes, that was the kind of man he wanted to be. Perhaps he could find his own place somewhere between Roman's underground rule and Ozpin's high society position.

"Oh, don't bother," said Ozpin flippantly, knocking Jaune out of his thoughts. "Did Glynda threaten you if you weren't on time? I expect she did, didn't she?"

"Well, not really," stammered Jaune, "but…"

"She can be rather intense, yes," said Ozpin, chuckling. "My role as headmaster is to preserve the student body from the wrath of Grimm and Glyna alike. We can wait a few minutes for you, no matter what she may have said."

Jaune attempted to follow Ozpin outside, but the older man put a hand on his chest and gently steered him back indoors.

"Coffee. Cereal. Then we can go outside and play."

Jaune blearily followed Ozpin's instructions.

He found the pot easily enough, standing on a long table at the edge of the room which seemed almost untouched compared to the others. As it held the coffee pot, several boxes of healthy grain cereals and fruit, he could guess why the students had ignored it in favour of the feast already set on the dining tables.

One of the cereal boxes stood out among the plain brands. Even from the side, it looked different; bright red rather than brown or beige. Jaune pulled it out curiously.

He swore.

Pyrrha Nikos smiled at him from in front of a bowl full of coloured shapes.

"Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes?" he read aloud. Huh. Coffee in hand, and cereal box in the other, he dropped backwards onto the dining table, making sure not to land on a plate.

He popped open the box and tipped a few pieces of the cereal into his hand. His eyebrows rose in surprise. Amongst the normal cereal flakes were orange marshmallows shaped like pumpkins and red marshmallows shaped like Pyrrha's head. Jaune held one of the Pyrrha marshmallows between his thumb and forefinger and inspected it closely.

For a small squishy object, it was a decent likeness. It managed to get the shape of her face and hair perfect - although it was beginning to deform even from the heat of his hand. He popped Pyrrha in his mouth and chewed.

His eyes bulged. She was delicious.

One bowl and one hasty sprint to the clifftop later, Jaune caught up with the rest of the initiates. He'd brought a second mug of coffee with him, thinking to drink it on the walk before he'd checked the time and burst into a panicked sprint.

A line was formed on metal squares at the edge of the cliff, with a student on each one. Ozpin stood to one side, and raised his coffee cup in salute to Jaune as he arrived. Jaune grinned sheepishly in return, and found his way to the first empty spot.

"Oh, hello! Good morning Jaune," said Pyrrha in a merry tone of voice. Jaune yelped and almost spilled his coffee. He had been in such a rush to find a spot that he hadn't looked to see who was beside him.

"Pyrrha!" exclaimed Jaune, nervously staring at the girl he'd just been eating in miniature. "I took your advice," he said hastily, trying to cover his nervous shout with conversation.

"My advice?" she asked, puzzled.

"I checked a cereal box. You were on it. And you were delicious. But -" Jaune paused, trying to think of a way to ask. Pyrrha cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you on a cereal box?"

"Pumpkin Pete sponsored me for the Mistral Tournament last year. The last three years, really," she said, and smiled. "You really didn't know who I was yesterday, did you?"

"Still don't," said Jaune truthfully.

Pyrrha looked downcast, and Jaune felt a little guilty, wondering if he'd undermined her self-confidence through his own ignorance. And then she changed entirely, looking up again to beam at him, although her smile was slightly abashed. It looked altogether like she was trying too hard to smile.

"Well then I owe you an apology for thinking so badly of you," she said. "I must have give a terrible impression."

Jaune shrugged, and gave her an easy smile.

"Blake explained you were famous, so it made a bit more sense after that. But we didn't really get to watch tournaments out in the wilderness. Or have cereal like Pumpkin Pete's," he added.

"Is Blake the girl you were with on the airship," Pyrrha asked innocently. Jaune nodded. "How long have you two been a couple? You looked so cozy last night," she said. Jaune hesitated, catching an odd undertone in her voice that he couldn't' quite recognise. She was speaking in a easy going, happy tone, but there was definitely something underneath which sounded almost bitter. He grown adept at reading people. It was necessary to survive out there on your own. But here and now, there was a question Pyrrha wasn't asking.

"We're not together," explained Jaune. "Although she was the same girl I was talking to on the airship. I actually met her just after I bumped into you."

Pyrrha frowned for the first time.

"You must be quite the ladies' man, to move so fast," she said, in a failed attempt at joking.

"We're just friends, that's all," protested Jaune.

"You were sleeping together," said Pyrrha doubtfully, but there wasn't much force in her words. A snicker came from down the line.

"Somebody got laid last night!" sang out Yang. Jaune groaned, and buried his face in his hands as all the students turned to look at him. A boy with a mohawk standing close to the start of the line wolf-whistled, and the others around him jeered in synch. They were already working together as a team, thought Jaune miserably.

"I ate fifty tiny versions of your head five minutes ago," he said, trying to distract himself from the jeers. "Was that cinnamon?" he asked. "I didn't have time to read the box since I was already so late."

"Yeah," she replied. "Mostly sugar, though. I'm afraid it's not very good for you."

The breeze shifted slightly and Jaune caught a familiar smell. He sniffed the air, and then stared at Pyrrha in surprise.

"You even smell like it. Is that why they chose the flavour?" he asked.

Pyrrha laughed, and Jaune saw her visibly relax.

"It's just perfume, Jaune. My sponsors send me free merchandise on the condition that I use it in important events, like tournaments. This isn't being watched by anyone but the teachers, but it feels like the start of a tournament to me," she admitted.

"Nervous?" asked Jaune.

"A little," she admitted. Somebody nearby scoffed at her words, but Jaune rolled his eyes.

"I usually get nervous going into battle, too," he said.

The person who'd scoffed looked over with a sneer. Jaune recognised him with a sinking feeling. It was Cardin, the oversized lout who'd attempted to shove him around yesterday.

"I didn't think they let cowards into Beacon, locker-boy!" he taunted.

"I get nervous before an important match too," said Pyrrha fiercely, turning to glare at Cardin. Jaune put a hand on her arm, and she stopped, looking back at him.

"Funny thing is," he began, "I stop being nervous as soon as the fighting begins."

Pyrrha gave him a wild grin, and nodded.

"Exactly!"

The two of them exchanged identical expressions. Cardin snorted in disgust in the background, but Jaune hardly noticed. His entire focus was on Pyrrha's piercing green eyes.

He felt the stirring of hormones again and cursed Roman for sending him to a place full of beautiful girls instead of moderately attractive Grimm.

"And now that Miss Belladonna has joined us," said Ozpin over the noise of student chatter, announcing the arrival of Blake and silencing the students simultaneously, "I would normally explain the rules of this test. However, as we're a little short on time, I'll keep this brief.

"If I fail because of your tardiness, you'll regret it," hissed Weiss to Blake. Blake ignored her, and Jaune stifled a laugh, trying not to be distracted from Ozpin.

"When you land, the first person you encounter will be your partner for the duration of your time at Beacon. Head north towards the ruined temple and retrieve a relic. Your choice of relic, along with your performance during the test, will be assessed and graded in order to assign you into the most suitable teams."

"Land?" mouthed Jaune to Pyrrha. She mimed a small bunny hop with her hand, rising a little way into the air - and then all the way to the touch the ground with two fingers.

Jaune paled, memories of his fall yesterday already flooding his head.

The first student was fired into the air with a loud bang.

"Are you okay, Jaune?" asked Pyrrha, her voice thick with concern.

"I hate flying," he moaned. "And falling. Aside from the airship to Beacon, the only time I've ever flown, I got thrown out of an open Bullhead from a hundred feet up."

"I'm sure it'll be okay," Pyrrha said, trying to soothe him, but Jaune just whimpered.

"I knew the laws of Physics were going to get me in the end. Damn you, gravity," he muttered pitifully. "I'm going to break my legs and get kicked out of school, or I'll just end up as a jam snack for a Beowulf."

Jaune was sure he could replicate his trick from before, but the thought of it was making him feel incredibly sick. Was it motion sickness, heights, or a mix of the two, he wondered. Both, he decided. He hated both.

Pyrrha bit her lip, looking concerned, and suddenly brightened.

"I have an idea!" she said, and thrust her shield into his hands.

"What?" asked Jaune, confused. "I already have a shield, it's just folded up right now."

"It's not your shield, though. It's mine," said Pyrrha, giving him a conspiratorial look.

"A shield is a shield!" said Jaune, almost panicking, despite having been in far worse situations. "Unless your shield can fly, it's no better than mine!"

Pyrrha grinned at him, and Jaune tried to hand her shield back. She shook her head.

"Hold onto it as tightly as you can. Don't let go no matter what. I'll take care of everything else."

Jaune just stared at her mutely as she buckled her shield onto his arm, and smiled as if this madness wasn't occurring.

"Don't rely on the strap. The force will probably dislocate your arm. Wrap your other arm around as well. Hold on here," she said, guiding his fingers. "There we go!"

She stood back, and smiled as if everything had gone perfectly. Jaune's eyes boggled in horror.

"Are you murdering me because I ate your tiny tasty faces?" he whispered.

Pyrrha's giggle lingered in the air for a few seconds after her platform activated, sending her flying upwards.

And then it was Jaune's turn.

He hugged Pyrrha's shield like a comfort blanket or teddy bear in lieu of screaming in a manly fashion, and braced himself.

The platform fired, and he was gone.

Wind rushed in his ears like white noise, and Jaune screamed in a manly fashion despite hugging Pyrrha's shield. It would have been a girly scream, but his throat was dry from panic and made his scream sound manlier. He was thankful for that, then hammered his head on Pyrrha's shield as he processed that thought - he'd just been pleased that his pathetic girly scream had been sounded like a pathetic manly scream.

He tried to focus and look at the ground to gauge a landing spot, but he was spinning wildly out of control. Other students rushed by in much more coordinated ways. Yang even ruffled his hair for a split-second as she flew past, turning in mid-air to give him a thumbs-up as he spun helplessly.

But then Pyrrha's shield began to turn, pulling him with it. Remembering her words, Jaune held on to it tight, but he couldn't stop it from moving. Instead, it turned him. Or rather, it stopped them both from turning, and held them still, cutting out even his forward momentum. In every direction but down, he was perfectly still.

Great job, Pyrrha! Jaune thought to himself. I'm going to fall to my death in a straight line. If he could see her, he'd glare, but then he reassessed the situation.

This wasn't much different than the Bullhead. He could just replicate that situation. Now that he wasn't spinning, he could see that there were no trees immediately below him, and grimaced. That was a bad sign. Okay, so he couldn't crash through branches to kill his speed. There were no buses with posters of Roman Torchwick nearby. Jaune looked really hard for one, too, but to no avail.

He sighed, grimaced, and reached down to activate his shield. Perhaps by locking the two together somehow, he could disperse the force of landing and reduce the damage, though it would still hurt like hell.

"Don't let go of Akoúo̱!" shouted Pyrrha.

Jaune wasn't going to, but stopped reaching for his shield anyway, and tried to spot Pyrrha.

She slammed into him from behind.

"Ow!" cried Jaune.

"Sorry!" cried Pyrrha, in the exact same pitch as Jaune's complaint. She wrapped her arms around him, and somehow picked him up mid-air. "I'll take Akoúo̱ back now," she said, snatching the bronze shield from his unresisting arms.

Jaune turned in her arms to stare at her.

"What the hell did you do?" he demanded, still very aware of the rapidly approaching ground.

"My Semblance is polarity," she explained. "I can summon my weapons in battle."

"And I was attached to your shield," finished Jaune, having put the pieces together in his head.

"That's right!" Pyrrha replied cheerfully.

Jaune sighed.

"Did you bring the jetpack? We're running out of ground." There was no reply. "Pyrrha?" he tried again, but she was staring at the forest floor, carefully assessing the distance. Jaune began to feel nervous about yet another thing.

"Okay, ready!" she exclaimed, and spun around, doing a somersault in the air and using the momentum of it to slingshot Jaune upwards. She pulled her shield and javelin into position, firing several rifle shots from the end of her javelin at the ground.

As he spun helplessly again, all Jaune could see was a cloud of dust, but then it cleared as Pyrrha dove through it, landing in a perfect pose.

A tremor ran through the ground around her, flashing outwards in a perfect circle, like a ripple in a pond, and then the dust cloud began to settle.

Pyrrha holstered her weapon, dropped Akoúo̱ on the ground, and caught Jaune in her arms.

"Good catch," he wheezed. She tilted her head lopsidedly and smiled at him.

"The temple's to the north. Let's get going, partner!" Pyrrha began walking into the forest, presumably heading northwards. Her shield flew up from the ground and reattached itself to the straps of her armour as she used her Semblance to call it back. Jaune imagined it must be easier without him clinging onto it like a monkey stuck to a frisbee. She caught his eye, and her smile widened. "You know, I bet we're the first pair to form."

Jaune coughed.

"Actually Professor Ozpin said the first pair to meet on the ground." Pyrrha looked at him, puzzled. "I haven't reached the ground yet," he said dryly, and more than slightly embarrassed. Not only had she caught him like it was nothing, she was striding into a Grimm-infested forest carrying him - bridal style.

"Oops!" she exclaimed, and dropped him.

Jaune's ass hit dirt and rocks, and he bit back another complaint. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and settled himself. So he'd been a complete joke all morning. It stopped now. He was back where he knew how things worked; Grimm territory.

He stood, and dusted himself off silently, then unsheathed Crocea Mors.

For a full minute, he stood there in silence, just breathing in the forest air with closed eyes. And then he snapped his eyes open and met Pyrrha's eyes.

"Now we're partners. Not a madwoman and her luggage," said Jaune.

"Sorry!" cried out Pyrrha, for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

"You know what? Just stop apologising." Jaune stretched his back and groaned as his muscles popped back in place. But this groan was one of pleasure. "I get the feeling you're going to be doing it a lot, and it's getting more annoying than the things you're saying sorry for.

Pyrrha looked dejected, and Jaune felt bad for a moment, but brushed it aside. She may have been in total control during their descent, but this was an expedition through his territory now. He felt more like himself here than he had all morning.

"Get that mopey look off your face," he insisted. "Rule Twelve of Team Jaune is don't feel bad for what's already happened."

"You just made that up," Pyrrha accused. Jaune smiled, shrugged, and eventually nodded.

"But it's true from now on. You've got to follow it if you want to be on my team, or you're out. Do you want to be part of Team Jaune?" he asked her, only half joking.

"I'd love to be part of Team Jaune," she said quietly.

"Alright then!" said Jaune, feeling elated. "Make sure you obey Rules One through Eleven as well." He paused.

"Wait. I'm the damsel in distress here," he joked. "It should probably be Team Pyrrha. You are the better fighter, after all."

Pyrrha shook her head firmly.

"I already chose my team. It's Team Jaune."

Jaune accepted this without a word, and they set off into the undergrowth. Nothing particularly exciting happened, beyond his interest in the ruined buildings which occasionally cropped up from underneath the trees. They seemed to be following some sort of line, so Jaune guessed that this used to be a main road. It made sense for the temple to be at the end.

Every so often, gunfire could be heard in the distance, and Jaune wondered when they'd run into any other classmates - or Grimm. But the Grimm seemed to be keeping away from the main path he and Pyrrha were on. Perhaps it was too open, and they were skulking in the undergrowth.

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, ever-prepared for an ambush that might never come.

"Why did you choose me as your partner?" he asked Pyrrha out of the blue, breaking the silence.

"I just saw that you were worried about landing and thought I'd help out," she claimed, but Jaune saw the obvious lie.

"No, there were teachers watching and all the other students were capable. I would have been fine. Probably. I was just panicking because of a bad experience like that. You could have just tried to calm me down, or given me advice on how to land."

"Well, I thought that helping you would be quicker than explaining a landing strategy," said Pyrrha awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck.

"You gave me your shield, Pyrrha. Your weirdly named flying shield Akoúo̱. You literally marked me as yours and then grabbed me out of the air. That's not just helping me land. You did this deliberately."

Pyrrha looked really downcast at Jaune's words, and she stopped walking. Normally she had a constant smile, but now the mask was off, and she looked truly unhappy.

"Do you not want me as a partner?" she asked, sounding hurt.

"I didn't say that," replied Jaune, taking a step closer to her.

"I wanted you as my partner," Pyrrha admitted.

"Yes, I know. But why? We only met once before, and I know that I didn't make a good impression on you yesterday."

Pyrrha sighed, and sat down on an outcropping of ancient bricks. Jaune had no idea what kind of building they might have come from.

"The misunderstanding yesterday happened because I thought you knew who I was. All my life people have recognised my talent and given me amazing support. They've always been there for me, cheering me on, acknowledging what I can do. But while everybody cheers for Pyrrha Nikos…" she trailed off, looking sadly into the distance.

"Pyrrha gets left behind?" asked Jaune softly.

"Can you just accept me as your partner without asking why?" she pleaded. Jaune was utterly bewildered, but he wasn't unkind.

"I won't stop being curious, but I won't ask again if it bothers you. If you can't tell me - can you tell me why you can't tell me?" he tried. She gave him a sheepish look.

"It's because I thought I saw a chance for something which might not be there. You didn't know who I was, so nothing came attached. Just us. As partners." Pyrrha bit her lip, and then suddenly looked up at Jaune in worry. "But I don't want you feeling like I'm just using you to feel normal!" she cried out.

Jaune squeezed her hands, and pulled her upright.

"Nobody's normal," he said. "And the only person who can make you feel like you, is you. But sometimes it's easier around the right people. I didn't get that until I met Blake. We've known each other a day, but I know that she's my friend. It doesn't make sense, but it just is."

"I didn't want you to feel I was stealing you from Blake, either," she said quietly.

"You never know, we might end up on a team with her too," said Jaune.

Pyrrha looked as if she was about to say something, but then leapt to her feet.

"Grimm!" she shouted.

Jaune scanned their surroundings. Beowolves. A pack of twenty or so, smelling slightly singed, and looking equally enraged. The plume of smoke coiling in the air suggested why. He wondered whether they were fleeing a predator or just the fire - but then they began to circle the clearing in a classic pack manoeuvre, and he knew exactly what they were doing.

Hunting down prey.

He tried not to smirk.

Well, they thought they were hunting down prey.

He reached for his Ursa sigil, but then hesitated, glancing at Pyrrha. She looked back at him, misinterpreting the worry on his face for fear of the battle.

"Do we fight or run?" she asked.

Jaune laughed aloud, his worry gone.

"We fight, of course!"

He activated Crocea Mors into its shield form, and threw himself into the fray. He was too used to fighting with a Beowulf partner instead of a shield, but his lack of skill didn't matter. He understood Beowolves. He knew their patterns.

Jaune sprinted at their leader and launched himself in the air, putting his shoulder behind the shield so that all his momentum impacted on the Beowulf's snout. It reeled backwards, howling in pain - and exposing its neck. Jaune decapitated it in a single stroke, and stepped back to avoid being crushed by the falling body.

Now he was facing away from the battle, but he knew what would happen. Seeing his back exposed, they'd rush at him. He could just about hear the heavy paws drumming the ground as a group approached his back. Another came from yet another angle. At least three in each group, by his best guess. But he didn't turn around. He couldn't. Not yet.

Until they were almost upon him, and he swung his full weight about, impacting the nearest Beowulf and sending it skittering into the two it had been charging with. Jaune charged straight at it, stepping on its torso and leaping clear over its head, splitting its skull with a hammer-blow from his sword as he did so. Now he was behind the two surviving members of that group, and before they could turn, they were dead.

The other two groups converged into a single pack facing him. He grinned. They hated open confrontations like this, preferring ambushes in the shadows.

Gunfire erupted amongst their ranks, sending them into disarray. Pyrrha was launching bullets into choice targets, sending them into chaos as they tried to flee but were trapped by the flailing or falling bodied of their dying kin.

Jaune circled the Beowulf pack, leaping out with bursts of speed to catch any that tried to escape the circle of death. They were panicked, leaping blind to get clear from Pyrrha's aim and the pile of bodies, so it was easy for him to slip under them. They would jump overhead and split their belly open on the tip of his sword, or crash headfirst into his shield and crush their skulls with their own force.

Soon it was over.

Pyrrha sauntered over to him, without a single mark of exertion on her face.

"Did you move this whole time, or were you just sniping them from behind a rock?" asked Jaune, amused. He hadn't seen her position in the entire fight - which actually impressed him, as he could count the bullet holes hissing with Fire Dust in the corpses on the battlefield. A good sniper is never seen, after all.

"I wanted to see what you can do," she replied.

"And?" he asked.

"Your shield technique is...inexperienced. But I can help you train with that!" she offered eagerly.

"So what do I get, a C+?" Jaune asked, amused.

"More like an A," replied Pyrrha. "You had total control of the battlefield despite being outnumbered. That takes excellent timing, spatial awareness, and understanding of your enemy. I couldn't have done that. Especially not with a weapon I'm not comfortable with."

"The weapon isn't the issue," quipped Jaune, returning Crocea Mors to a sheath, but keeping the sword in his hand. "I usually fight with only a sword, but I figured hey, Beacon's a school, so what better place to learn something new?"

"That's a good thought," said Pyrrha. "Let's go."

"Don't you want to finish the job?" asked Jaune. Pyrrha looked confused, so Jaune turned to face the mound of fallen Grimm, and grinned. It was fortunate enough to be facing him, so the last Beowulf, playing dead among the bodies, managed to see Jaune look directly at it. It clambered awkwardly to its feet, sprinting as fast as it could in the opposite direction.

There was a rush of wind and a sound like breaking glass, and Pyrrha's javelin speared it through the base of the neck, over three hundred metres away. Jaune was impressed. More impressed when the javelin rose into the air, dead Beowulf still stuck to it, and shimmered before shooting forwards, pulling itself free in a single swift motion.

"That's a really useful Semblance," he said, whistling. "The whole sword and shield thing is a classic. Works like a charm. But it doesn't leave me much in the way of long range options."

"Have you considered modifying your weapon?" asked Pyrrha.

"Oh yeah," said Jaune. "But I'll need a Nevermore and a net."


	5. Chapter 5

Dead Grimm meant living humans. Even the most mindless Grimm knew that, so Pyrrha suggested that they move off the main path in order to avoid attracting more attention and Jaune readily agreed. There was no sense in remaining here. The stench of blood and decay would only draw more predators.

They walked in silence through the undergrowth. The trees weren't too close together, so moving was easy, but Jaune couldn't help himself from staring into every shadow, behind every bush, and in every patch of darkness where a Grimm could hide.

"Relax, Jaune," said Pyrrha gently. "We got all of them."

Jaune gave her a wry smile.

"There are always more," he said, thinking back to the hundreds of times he'd collapsed in the shelter of a ruined cottage, or a rocky overhang, or even in the middle of an empty plain, only to have more Grimm appear from the direction he'd fled. They fed on rage and terror. It was easier for them to track a scared and battered boy through the forest by the trail of negative emotions than by sight or scent.

"I doubt any of that pack survived. You were amazing back there. Every time they moved or attacked, you knew exactly where they'd be. You didn't even look when they were charging at your back!" she exclaimed.

"I couldn't have turned around until I attacked," said Jaune, and Pyrrha's eyes went wide in understanding.

"Oh, but of course. You used the motion of your turn to strengthen your throw, using your enemy's brute force against itself. I've studied a number of fighting styles that use similar techniques, but they're mostly used in sparring matches between unarmed combatants," said Pyrrha.

"Grimm don't carry weapons," said Jaune airily.

"So you fight them with Vacuo Aura Fist martial arts to make it fair?" joked Pyrrha, flipping her ponytail over one shoulder, and giving Jaune an amused look.

"I've never been to Vacuo, and I hardly know how to use my shield, let alone fancy lost arts from storybooks," said Jaune with a snort.

"They're not a lost art," reprimanded Pyrrha. "There are practitioners in every kingdom - of varying skill. I've fought a number of them."

Jaune furrowed his brow, confused. That seemed wrong, surely. He remembered hearing about how the warrior monks of the Aura Fist all perished in a heroic but fatal Grimm siege on their isolated monastery.

"Didn't they all die when Ochre was destroyed?" he asked.

Pyrrha burst out laughing, rich peals breaking through the eerie silence of the forest which lay beneath their conversation.

"All but the poet Lumin, who did not fight, but found enlightenment through his studies of Aura, and banished all evil from his soul," she asked rhetorically. Jaune got the feeling she was making fun of him, but answered anyway.

"Yes, Lumin," said Jaune, feeling like he was walking into a trap. "He meditated with his Aura without a single negative feeling in his heart, so the Grimm couldn't find him. He survived to tell the world what happened because there was no violence within him, only peace. But that meant he was only able to record the destruction of the monastery, not take on students and rebuild it."

Pyrrha was trying to hold in her laughter, but without any success. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and made muffled noises as she fought off her mirth.

"Oh, Jaune," she said affectionately. "That was a storybook. I read it when I was a little girl."

He immediately felt the fire burning in his cheeks, and groaned.

"I'm such an idiot," he moaned.

"It's a lovely tale, though so tragic," murmured Pyrrha. "It was meant to be a lesson for students of the discipline, to teach them to find a balance between peace and violence."

"I thought it was real," said Jaune sheepishly, fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.

"Well, it did happen, in a way. Ochre was destroyed, but many people survived. There aren't any Ochre warrior monks anymore, but some people train to fight in their style. Lumin wrote the story because he thought that his order had brought their destruction on themselves."

Jaune reflected on that for a moment, trying to remember what little he could of the tale. He vaguely remembered the voice of his father reading it to him, and winced. Not just a storybook, but a bedtime story. He resolved not to let Pyrrha know that particular fact. He felt humiliated enough.

Trying to pretend that he hadn't just shown himself to be an ignorant child, Jaune considered what he knew of Grimm.

"I suppose it makes a kind of sense," he said. "The constant outpouring of frustration and anger as they pushed their training harder and harder might draw the attention of a horde of Grimm," he suggested.

Pyrrha tilted her head, and looked at Jaune intently.

"They always say that Grimm are born of negativity, but it's only in stories that they can actually sense emotion," she said. Not challenging his statement, just offering her own in return. "No research has ever proven that they're drawn to darker emotions, only that they're drawn to people."

Jaune smiled bitterly.

"People feel all sorts of things," he said. "It may as well be that which lets them find us, wherever we hide."

"You really believe that, don't you?" said Pyrrha, wonderingly.

"Am I going to become known as the boy who believes all the fairytales?" asked Jaune, the bitterness leaving his smile. There were worse things to be thought of than naive.

"It's never been disproven, either," Pyrrha said to herself. "And the way you fought back there - you knew exactly how they were going to attack. Exactly how they were going to react to your every move. You understand the way they hunt in a way I can't imagine."

"I'm sure any veteran Hunter would know the same," said Jaune dismissively. "It's just experience."

Pyrrha grabbed his arm, suddenly fierce.

"No, they wouldn't," she insisted. "A Hunter could blast them into pieces easily enough, but you orchestrated your whole defence as if you could hear the Beowolves think. Hunters learn how to kill Grimm, but you - you've learned how to understand them."

Jaune grimaced.

"I hope I never understand what it's like to be a creature like that," he said.

"That's not what I meant!" exclaimed Pyrrha in exasperation. "You understand their behaviour in a way that nobody I've ever met does. The Grimm are alien and evil, anathema to humanity. All we know is that they kill us and we kill them."

Jaune shrugged awkwardly, feeling very uncomfortable about Pyrrha's intense gaze every bit as much as he was feeling unnerved by the idea of himself thinking like a Grimm.

"You're making an awfully big deal out of this," he said. "I had to learn how to stay alive and I couldn't fight them the way Hunters do."

"And you believe that they sense our emotions," continued Pyrrha. Jaune just shrugged helplessly, his arm still caught in her vice-like grip.

At long last, she let go of his arm.

"I believe you," she said quietly.

"What?" said Jaune, taken aback.

"We know so little about the Grimm. But I saw you how you fought them, and I know almost everything there is to know about fighting. You knew."

"They were only Beowolves," said Jaune helplessly, more than a little worried about where she was going with this.

Pyrrha gave him a long, fixed look.

"Since I was a little girl I've trained to fight, Hunters and Grimm alike. I've studied every text I could find, and practiced with every style of weapon I could think of until I built Miló and Akoúo̱. But you didn't study Grimm from a book. You learned about the Grimm from the Grimm themselves," Pyrrha said, sounding distant. "Jaune...I think you're a better Hunter than me."

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" exclaimed Jaune, about to burst into a rant about the incredibly complicated moves he'd seen her perform. But then he saw her expression, and went silent. She was smiling.

"Being a Hunter isn't about being the best fighter," she said.

Jaune just gave up, and dropped the subject. So what if he had a bit more hands-on experience with battling Grimm than she had? She was obviously more skilled in every way.

"Why are you so fixated on this?" he asked at last, unable to resist the urge to pry.

"I'm just happy to learn about my new partner's abilities," Pyrrha said, in a voice that was almost dripping sincerity. Jaune shook his head in despair. He wasn't sure if he'd ever understand this weird girl.

But their conversation had carried them to the edge of the forest, where the trees thinned out and gave way to a wall of solid rock - solid, that is, until Jaune turned his head to the right and saw the narrow fissure in the cliff face that gave way to a dark opening at ground level. It looked like exactly the kind of place he wanted to avoid, but Pyrrha was striding on ahead of him before he could stop her.

"These markings don't seem friendly," she said, pointing at the decorations lining the entrance to a narrow crack in the rock. Jaune took a closer look once he'd caught up, and whistled.

"Yeah. That's definitely a warning," he agreed, examining the crude stick figures fleeing from a drawing of a Deathstalker. "They look pretty old, but I bet that thing is still in there."

"They look centuries old!" exclaimed Pyrrha. "Surely it'd have been chased off by Hunters, or left in search of - of prey."

Jaune shook his head morbidly.

"Deathstalkers don't go out hunting. They lure the prey to them."

Pyrrha gave him a curious look, so Jaune continued to explain.

"They aren't like Beowolves in their roaming packs, or Ursa with wide ranging territories. They have lairs. And there isn't much which can draw one out of its lair once it's settled in. They find places like this and burrow in, waiting for people to come to them. They don't hunt. They trap."

The opening in the rock was pitch black. Jaune stared into it, remembering the last time he'd been caught by a Deathstalker. He had sought shelter from the pouring rain, and ducked into a cave. That was how they got you. Patience.

He looked at Pyrrha, meaning to suggest they move on elsewhere, but she was looking at him oddly. He couldn't place the expression.

"What's that look for?" he asked.

"You looked so far away for a moment there."

Jaune shrugged.

"Memories," he said, simply. "I wasn't strong enough to fight everything I came across. You're an amazing fighter, but I'm just me. I guess you were right earlier. I had to learn to understand the dangers in this world so I could survive."

"Memories of fighting a Deathstalker?" asked Pyrrha, part curious, and part eager. Jaune shot her a smile, but shook his head.

"Of surviving one," he said. "It was raining. We found a cave next to the road, and set up camp inside." He shivered at the memory. The wood was too wet to catch fire, and everyone was soaked through. Freezing. And then there was a sudden burst of amber light in the middle of the camp, and a ragged cheer went up at the sight of the fire finally bursting into flame.

Only it hadn't been fire.

"The caravan I was travelling with managed to collapse the tunnel entrance. Some of us got out." He sighed, knowing that there was no good in dwelling on deaths he'd mourned long ago.

"I can't even imagine how many Grimm you've encountered," wondered Pyrrha aloud. "I've only ever killed a few in staged arena matches."

"Well, I've only ever killed a few people, so I guess that evens us out," joked Jaune. He immediately regretted it, as Pyrrha turned pale.

"Why would you ever do something so awful?" she whispered, sounding horrified.

"It was just a joke," said Jaune awkwardly; twice as awkward because he knew it was also the truth.

"But you have, haven't you?" insisted Pyrrha. Jaune smiled weakly, unable to answer. "And you can joke about it," she said to herself, sounding stunned.

"They say Grimm have no souls, but there are people out there who can be just as bad. Worse, even, because the mask makes them look like a perfectly normal person until it comes off and you see the monster hidden inside," said Jaune slowly.

"Who was it?" asked Pyrrha. Her voice was completely emotionless, and that bit at Jaune deeper than if she'd been angry.

"Mostly bandits on the roads," said Jaune reluctantly. "But there were others. I'm not proud of what I've done, but in some of those isolated settlements there were people gone wrong. Twisted. Murderers or worse, and nobody to stand between them and the town out in the wilds where the only law is strength."

Pyrrha remained silent, staring at him without moving.

"Would you do it again?" she asked at length.

Jaune hesitated, and Pyrrha saw the answer in his face.

"There are some awful people out there, where there aren't any laws or police," said Pyrrha quietly. "Worse than just thieves or murderers."

"Yeah," said Jaune. "There are. And if I see what's happening and do nothing, am I any better than them?" Inside, he was terrified that we was putting off his new partner by so casually confessing to being a killer. He tensed up, expecting her to call him a monster, or attack him, or - or anything, really. But she just watched him.

"Oh, Jaune," she murmured softly.

"It's your turn to confess dark secrets now," he jested weakly, trying to break the sombre atmosphere. It must have worked, because the strain left Pyrrha's face. Although her eyes still looked wet.

"Aren't we supposed to be finding a relic?" she said, changing the subject - something for which Jaune felt absurdly grateful.

Hoping that this revelation hadn't made his new partner think less of him, Jaune swallowed his guilt, and forced himself to face the facts: he'd said something stupid and revealed something he needed to be kept secret. If it ruined their budding friendship, that was his own fault. He knew that he needed to be very careful with what he said about his past - particularly his Semblance, and his recent past. Roman would not be pleased to become the subject of gossip. The White Fang would be even less pleased.

"We'll probably have to go through this cave," he said, unhappy with the idea, but unable to see any alternative.

"Even though you think there might be a Deathstalker in there?" questioned Pyrrha.

"This is a test," said Jaune dryly. "We could wander the forest some more, but this is north, marked for us to see, and almost definitely dangerous. It checks all the right boxes."

"A monster put in place to guard the temple where the relics are," mused Pyrrha. "It sounds just like a bedtime story, but it does make a certain kind of sense. Do you think there might be other students in there?" she asked.

"There are probably a number of different routes to the temple," said Jaune. "They want to test how we perform as partners, not as an entire class, right?"

Pyrrha nodded, and stared into the darkness.

The two of them entered the cave. Pyrrha attempted to move forwards, but Jaune held her back, only a few feet inside.

"We don't have anything to see with," he explained. "Let your eyes adjust to the darkness before we go any deeper."

"That won't do much good," said Pyrrha doubtfully.

"It might do a little," countered Jaune. Pyrrha relented, and waited with him, staring into the darkness.

"Will it hear us coming?" she asked. Jaune shook his head, then, realising that she couldn't see him, spoke aloud.

"They have almost no hearing, but perfect vision in the dark. They can see heat the way we see light. If there's one in here, it knows we're coming no matter how quiet we are."

"Professor Port theorised that they can sense vibrations. Feeling sound through touch. He thought it was how they could tell when their victims tried to run," said Pyrrha.

"No," said Jaune. "They just watch."

"Professor Port is the leading academic in the field of Grimm Studies," said Pyrrha doubtfully. "I trust you, but what makes you so certain?"

"It didn't notice the idiot who was standing behind it and shouting," muttered Jaune.

"You?" suggested Pyrrha. Jaune slumped forwards.

"Yeah," he said. "I was doing a really bad job of running away. I'm better at it now. Other direction, no trying to get its attention. Great success every time."

"Well, you're the resident expert on fighting Deathstalkers in their own lairs," said Pyrrha cheerily. "How are we going to kill it?"

Jaune gaped. If her creative landing was any indication, maybe she really was insane enough to try fighting a Deathstalker in its pitch-black lair.

"I was thinking that we run past it as fast as we can," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "If this leads to the temple, there'll be an exit at the far side of the tunnel."

"And if it's a dead end?"

"I have a few tricks which might distract it long enough for us to get back to the entrance," said Jaune. His Ursa would be no match for a Deathstalker, but it'd be enough to draw its attention while he and Pyrrha fled back to the cave opening. He really hoped it wouldn't come to that. Pyrrha had suffered enough revelations from him for one day. No need to add his necromantic Grimm allies to the list unless things got truly desperate."

"We should fight it," argued Pyrrha. "This is our test. Fighting an opponent in its own lair, where it has every advantage. We've come to Beacon to push the limits of what we can do. This is where we start."

"I prefer plain old survival to a glorious death, Pyrrha," muttered Jaune. "We only need to get the relic. For all we know, we'd be marked down for taking unnecessary risks if we did that."

She paused, considering his words.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Obeying the parameters of an assigned mission is as vital as combat skills to a Hunter." And yet she sounded incredibly disappointed.

Jaune laughed. If she was so used to fighting in dangerous tournaments, perhaps this felt like another one of those challenges to her. To him, it felt too much like real life."

"We can spar afterwards if you're going to sulk about skipping the fight," he offered.

"Deal?" she said, insistently.

"We're partners, aren't we? We'll be sparring together constantly for practice," he said.

"Actually students only spar in combat class," said Pyrrha, sounding disappointed.

"Huh," muttered Jaune. "I really should have read the syllabus before agreeing to come here."

"Agree?" questioned Pyrrha. "Most students attend years of combat school and pass gruelling examinations to get into Beacon."

"Blake didn't go to combat school," said Jaune, dodging the underlying question.

"But she did take the entrance exams," said Pyrrha. "I checked up on her scores. She did very well," Pyrrha added quietly.

"Why did you look up Blake's entrance exam?" asked Jaune, bewildered.

"I was curious," replied Pyrrha. Jaune sighed. That was so not an answer, but he could tell he wasn't going to get any more out of her by prying deeper, so he let it go.

Pyrrha looked at him with a scrutinising gaze.

"Only two students were invited into Beacon. Ruby Rose, who entered early after foiling a robbery and fighting criminals alongside Professor Goodwitch. And apparently you," she said.

"So?" asked Jaune, reluctant to explore this thread of conversation lest it lead back to Roman's acquisition of his place here, which had no doubt been the result of several criminal offences and would see him expelled in an instant.

"I'm just curious about what you did. All the record says is that the headmaster was impressed by an incredible act of public service."

"Is that all," muttered Jaune noncommittally, keeping his eyes open for any sign of the Deathstalker. They were deep in the cave now, but he could only see Pyrrha's shapely silhouette and the rocky walls surrounding them.

"No, actually."

Jaune flinched. He hadn't checked the transcripts that Roman had put together for him, and was suddenly really regretting that.

"What else did the record say?" he asked reluctantly.

"That you showed valour and skill befitting a true Hunter, and deserved the chance to benefit from all that Beacon has to offer and continue down the path you walked in a professional, trained capacity."

Jaune blinked. Just what the hell had Roman done? He'd assumed that the man had faked a transfer from another school, or forged an exam pass. He resolved to interrogate him about it as soon as this test was over - and he was away from prying ears.

"That seems excessive," grumbled Jaune.

"Hmm," said Pyrrha, speculatively.

Jaune glared at her in exasperation, although it was Roman and himself that he was annoyed at, not Pyrrha - although he found it beyond odd that she'd done a background check on him and Blake.

"Is that why you wanted me for a partner? To find out what I'd done to get that reference?" he asked

"No!" insisted Pyrrha. "I only looked you up after I'd decided that I wanted to be your partner. To see what I was signing up for."

"Honestly?" aked Jaune, wondering once more why she'd deliberately sought him out.

"You said you wouldn't keep asking about this," said Pyrrha, sounding hurt.

Jaune sighed.

"It's okay. I believe you. I think you're weird as hell for it, but I don't mind that you picked me. I'd be flattered if I wasn't so confused."

The cavern began to widen. They'd been walking for several minutes, and Jaune could see as the cave walls began to disappear; everything but Pyrrha's silhouette bleeding away into darkness.

He chanced a look at her, walking beside him. Even in the dark, her side profile highlighted the curves of her body, and he couldn't help but let his eyes trail over her.

Even if she'd been unable to fight, he'd be hard pressed to complain about getting a partner who looked like she did.

"You think so too?"

Wait, what? Jaune was utterly lost, so he answered blindly. There was no way she was asking him if he shared her thoughts on the way her body looked, a tantalizing outline against the darkness that suggested as much as it obscured.

"It's possible," he ventured.

"If those markings really were old, it'll need more space to live in. It probably hollowed out this cavern as it aged," suggested Pyrrha.

The talk of Grimm brought Jaune's mind down to earth, and he immediately agreed.

"Exactly," he said, a bit too quickly. "That's how they behave. It's in here somewhere. And so is our way out."

Jaune looked around for a sign of light, but there was nothing. He grimaced.

"We should stick to one of the walls, so we don't get lost in the middle of the cave," said Pyrrha.

"Good thinking," said Jaune. "Hopefully not the side that the Deathstalker is lurking on."

"A few gunshots around the perimeter might draw it out," suggested Pyrrha, drawing her weapon. "That way we at least know where it is."

Jaune considered her words, but then shook his head.

"No. Definitely not. It's waiting for us to come to it, like a spider in a web. If we can find the exit soon enough, we can make a break for it before it attacks. If we make it angry, it'll forget waiting and just chase us down. We'd have no idea of where to run."

"But if you think it's watching us..." trailed off Pyrrha.

"It is," said Jaune darkly. "But it's watching us blunder around in the dark, hoping we'll come within reach. It won't attack yet."

"What about when we get near the exit?"

"The Deathstalker attacking us will be the sign that we've found the exit," said Jaune dryly. "Unless we just walk into it. But on the plus side, we probably don't have to worry about which one we'll find first."

"You think it's waiting for us in the exit?" asked Pyrrha.

"If I'm right and this is a tunnel to the temple, yeah. That's where it'll be."

"If you're wrong?"

"Unless there's more than one way out, it'll be blocking the way we came in," said Jaune.

Pyrrha paused, reaching out to stop Jaune from moving any further.

"So either way, we have to get past it?"

"That was always the plan," he reminded her.

"I like this plan," said Pyrrha fiercely, startling Jaune. Once he'd recovered, he chuckled at her fighting spirit.

"You don't mind that I gambled on this not being a one-way deathtrap?" he asked mildly.

"So long as we're not the ones who die," she quipped, excitement beginning to flood her voice. Jaune could see her posture shift as she readied for combat, and couldn't help but marvel. He'd always fought to survive, but Pyrrha's enthusiasm was obvious in both her voice and posture.

After seeing so much of the despair and struggle that so often marked a battle with Grimm, her demeanour was refreshing. It was almost contagious. Jaune grinned, despite his instincts screaming for him to flee the cave.

Being partnered with her seemed like it was going to be interesting - if they lived through it.

"I'm pretty sure that's the exit," said Jaune, gesturing at a nondescript portion of shadow.

"How can you tell?" asked Pyrrha, only to answer her own question. "Oh. I can feel the breeze too, now."

"Huh. I hadn't noticed that," replied Jaune. "I just saw the sunlight."

"I can't see any light. Are you sure it wasn't the Deathstalker's stinger?" asked Pyrrha apprehensively. Jaune grinned, and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Definitely sunlight. I'm one hundred percent sure of that," said Jaune. "I can tell by the way that the Deathstalker's sitting in front of it. Move over here a bit," he suggested.

Pyrrha walked around to Jaune's other side, and together they stared at the pale line streaming from what appeared to be a crack in the rock. But Jaune knew better. It was just a tiny gap between the Deathstalker's armoured carapace and the tunnel wall.

He took a deep breath, and touched the Ursa sigil on Crocea Mors longingly. He'd love to have a distraction to sacrifice while they fled, but there was no way he was letting somebody find out about his Grimm before classes even started. He chanced a look at Pyrrha, who was kneeling in a combat-ready sniper pose.

"Close your eyes," she said.

Jaune's eyes widened, and he had only a fraction of a second to cover his eyes before Pyrrha fired a volley of Dust bullets at the Deathstalker.

"Race you outside," he muttered, his words covered by the explosive blasts striking the Deathstalker.

It shrieked in anger and slammed its pincers together.

Jaune gave Pyrrha one last look, hoping it wouldn't be the actual last time he saw her, and sprinted to the opposite side of the cavern.

The Deathstalker charged at Pyrrha, forming a single point with its pincers pressed together, and drove them into the ground where she had been kneeling.

Jaune heard the sound of her boots against rock, and knew she'd managed to evade it. He began to sprint towards the entrance, hoping against all hope that she'd have the sense to do the same.

He didn't have an opportunity to find out. The Deathstalker slammed its heavy tail into him, sending him flying through the air. His Aura prevented it from breaking any ribs, but the air was knocked out from his lungs. He struck the wall and collapsed to the floor, wheezing.

A series of explosions came from all around him as Pyrrha darted around the cave, presumably hoping to disorient it. Jaune bit his cheek in frustration. She was trying to confuse it and lead it away, but it wouldn't work.

"Jaune!" she shouted. "I'll blind it with gunfire while you get outside!"

Jaune just rolled his eyes and climbed to his knees. Damn fool girl was going to get herself killed.

Pyrrha unleashed another volley, and this time the Deathstalker swiped the bullets from the air in a remarkable display of dexterity for something so huge. The clang of her metal boots on the cave floor and walls was the only sign Jaune had of where she was - until the Deathstalker began to crawl forwards menacingly.

There was a loud clang of bone on metal as the Deathstalker struck Pyrrha's shield. Jaune cursed the darkness and ran towards both monsters; the one he needed to kill, and the one he needed to save.

Pyrrha stopped firing. Jaune felt something catch in his throat, but them he saw her leap into the air, grabbing the Deathstalker's tail to use as leverage, and leaping onto a high boulder.

The Deathstalker struck the boulder with a crushing blow, again and again, alternating pincers each time. It stabbed out with its tail, but Pyrrha deflected every blow, punctuating the battle with ringing bronze.

As the Deathstalker was no longer blocking the entrance, Jaune could see slightly better. He watched in amazement as she slid and spun the exact amount needed to avoid each blow, and marvelled at the way she not only blocked the attacks from its tail, but twisted its own action with a firm sweep of her shield, knocking it off balance.

Watching her fight was a thing of beauty. But useless. Because the Deathstalker was still hammering at the base of the boulders with the same pincers that had hollowed this cavern out from the narrow tunnel they had originally entered.

Jaune walked carefully towards them, careful not to get struck by the wildly flailing swipes from its tail. The creature's massive body shook with each strike against the boulder, and, in one dreadful moment, Jaune heard a deafening crack resonate through the chamber as it began to break through the base of the rock Pyrrha stood on.

At the sound of the crack, it stopped attacking with its tail and stinger to focus on destroying the boulder and bringing Pyrrha down into its bony maw.

Jaune stopped, standing between a pair of the Grimm's legs, close enough to reach out and touch its body. He grimaced.

It couldn't see him through its own body, but he couldn't help Pyrrha from here, either - and his sword would do little good against the beast until they'd caused enough damage to it that the energies which preserved its form began to weaken enough for his blade to pierce it. Even the so-called soft underbelly of the Deathstalker was stronger than steel when they were this old.

Something clicked in Pyrrha's hands. She spun her rifle around, swapping out something Jaune couldn't see in the centre of the weapon, and then crouching down in position to fire.

Jaune closed his eyes, wincing at the thought that he was using the Deathstalker to shield himself from his partner's attacks, and braced himself for the onslaught.

But it wasn't ordinary Dust bullets. A flash of white and blue light seared through his closed eyelids, and lightning sparked across the Deathstalker's mask.

He silently cursed Pyrrha. Trying to blind it was a good idea, but the bone mask didn't conduct the power of lightning well enough to damage all of its eyes. She'd managed to take out one of them. It had nine left.

The Grimm recoiled in pain, pausing in its attack on the boulder. Jaune saw his chance, and went for it. Hating himself the whole time for doing something so damn stupid.

He drove his sword into a gap in the armoured joints of the Deathstalker's nearest leg, and used it to help pull himself onto its body.

It didn't need to see him if he was standing on the damn thing. The monster's tail swiped a wide arc across its back, and Jaune just barely managed to flatten himself down against a bony ridge, avoiding being thrown across the cavern a second time. As the Grimm pulled its tail back for a more precise, stabbing attack, Jaune pushed himself back up and sprinted forwards. He tensed, waiting for the right moment, and then felt the rush of air against his back preceding the Grimm's killing blow.

Jaune jumped into the air, just managing to clear the tail, and focused himself into a controlled fall. The amber glow of the stinger was a perfect guide, and his feet touched down on its bulbous surface perfectly. He pushed against it, working with the Deathstalker's hasty attempt to flick him off, and used it as a springboard to jump higher in the air than he could under his own power.

It still wasn't enough.

He reached out a hand, and, just as he reached the apex of his jump, Pyrrha grabbed him by it, pulling him up onto the ledge.

"Got any more special Dust cartridges?" he asked, spinning around to watch the Deathstalker even as he spoke to the girl who was now behind him.

"Only three left. It didn't do enough damage. We'll have to use something else," said Pyrrha quickly.

The boulder shuddered under a crushing blow from the Deathstalker's renewed attack. Jaune staggered, and would have fallen straight off if Pyrrha hadn't caught him by the arm.

"How the hell are you keeping your balance?" Jaune demanded, falling to his knees at the second blow. It felt like the entire cave was tearing itself apart from up here. This boulder was their whole world, and it was rapidly crumbling.

"Lower your centre of gravity!" shouted Pyrrha over the deafening pounding of bone and boulder beneath them.

"What?" asked Jaune. "Nevermind! Dust cartridges! You said three. Are they all Energy?"

"No, but the others will do even less good," said Pyrrha. "I have two Earth ones and a Frost cartridge."

Jaune grinned.

"The Frost one will get us out of here."

Pyrrha's hands slipped across her weapon, adjusting its chamber and moving complicated parts around faster than Jaune could follow. Almost fast enough to ruin his plan.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her from loading the Frost Dust cartridge into her weapon.

"No!" he shouted, both out of urgency and to be heard over the drumbeat signalling their rapidly approaching demise.

"But you don't have a gun," protested Pyrrha, bewildered. Jaune grinned, and snatched the cartridge out of her hands.

"Who says we have to fight by the rules?" he exclaimed, placing the cartridge on the ground, holding it firmly in place between the cave wall and his foot, and severing the top of it with a blow from his sword. Crystalline particles of Dust rose into the air, forming patterns of ice wherever they struck one another. It was beautiful, but he had no time to stand and stare. Jaune took two steps backwards, picked up the almost-full but open cartridge, and took a running jump off the boulder.

The Deathstalker's tail rose menacingly in the air, but before it could drive the barb through Jaune's chest, he landed on the Deathstalker's mask, one knee planted against the bone to keep him steady, and his sword buried deep into one of its eyes. He grinned in elation at the feeling of another second during which he was not dead.

He pulled his blade free and ran across the Deathstalker's body, pouring Frost Dust over its eyes. The Grimm howled and shivered, slamming its tail against the ground in rage. Jaune slid across to the other side of the beast's massive head, and coated the other set of eyes with Frost Dust. It reached up with its pincers, trying to grab him, but the thick armour plating stopped them from reaching him enough.

Pyrrha landed on the Deathstalker beside him, holding her weapon in its javelin form.

"Take out its eyes?" she asked.

"No," said Jaune quickly. "It's blind now. Heat vision and Frost Dust in your eyes means it's looking at an empty cave. If you break the seal of Dust it'll be able to see us."

"We can weaken it by destroying the eyes!" argued Pyrrha.

"Notice how we're having this debate on top of the rampaging Deathstalker?" said Jaune dryly. "It's blind. Risk even one eye open, and it'll be able to get us with that shiny stabby trinket down there."

"But it still knows exactly where we are!" protested Pyrrha. Jaune smiled, and gently pushed her backwards.

And then he dove off the Deathstalker as fast as he could, confident that Pyrrha had either taken the hint or was quick enough to dodge.

There was a smashing sound, much more brittle and piercing than the heavy blows against the boulder had been, and then an unearthly scream.

Jaune let out a deep breath, and turned to face his foe.

In a desperate attempt to strike Jaune and Pyrrha, the Deathstalker had driven its own barbed tail straight through its body. It was still alive, however, writhing and screaming, battering its pincers against the floor and air in a vain hope of striking either one of them.

Jaune didn't dare to breathe as he slipped between its legs, which were kicking to and fro in agony, and ducked underneath the Deathstalker's body.

It's tail had pierced almost all the way through, with just the triangular tip of its stinger illuminating the exit wound. That was convenient, thought Jaune to himself as he moved carefully towards it, trying not to be crushed beneath its massive weight.

He grasped the hilt of Crocea Mors with both hands, and drove it into the open wound, pushing his Aura through the blade.

As expected, the white-gold light of his Aura began to suffuse the Deathstalker, spreading outwards from the point of contact.

The Grimm began to still as it died, both by its wounds and the overwhelming force of Jaune's Aura invading its dying and defenceless body. It folded its knees and collapsed, landing sprawled on one side. Jaune narrowly avoided being crushed by its massive bulk by twisting his body, clinging tightly onto his sword

The golden light had almost covered the entire underbelly of the fallen beast. Jaune centred himself, focusing his Aura and pushing it out with more force. The monster was so huge that his power was covering it at a glacial pace.

And then Pyrrha drove her javelin through the roof of the Deathstalker's open mouth, killing it for good, and interrupting Jaune's attempt to enthrall the Deathstalker. The light of his Aura spreading across the Grimm shimmered for a moment, and then flared brightly, imploding back into Jaune through Crocea Mors.

It also caused a small explosion of stray Aura, sending Jaune tumbling to the ground.

He spluttered and coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. There were patches of grainy white light floating in front of his eyes, and when he stood up, the world swam in front of him. He wavered for a moment, then another, and then fell.

Pyrrha caught him. He hoped that her catching him wasn't going to become a recurring battle feature.

He groaned.

"Jaune?" she asked, her voice thick with concern. "Are you alright? Did it land on you?"

"Damn it all, woman," he groaned, and wheezed loudly. "You did more damage to me just now than the Deathstalker."

Pyrrha opened her mouth in shock, and looked back to where her javelin remained, buried in the Grimm's decomposing body.

"I couldn't have hit you!" she claimed, but then with doubt in her voice, repeated herself.

"How could I have hit you from there? I'm so sorry!"

Jaune tried to laugh, but it came out as a pained cough.

"You didn't hit me. You interrupted me while I was finishing it off. All the power I was going to use to destroy a huge Deathstalker backfired on me when you killed it," he said, mixing truth and untruth in equal measure.

"Are you badly hurt? I'm sorry," she exclaimed, beginning to sound flustered.

Jaune waved her off, managing to stand on his own feet with only minor wobbles.

"It's not your fault. You didn't know about my Semblance. I don't know much about it either, to be honest. Didn't know it could do that, for one thing," he said.

"What is your Semblance?" asked Pyrrha. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I," muttered Jaune. "I'm still exploring what it can do, though."

"Oh," said Pyrrha, clearly disappointed. A moment later, she perked up, her trademark cheery smile back on in an instant. "At least that gives us something interesting to practice with!"

"I don't think it's the kind of power you spar with," said Jaune, despite the fact that most of his combat training had in fact come from sparring with his original summoned Beowulf. "Can we get out of this cave? I want to see the sunlight at least one more time before a Grimm eats me."

"Of course," said Pyrrha, trying to help support Jaune as he wobbled towards the entrance, despite his repeated attempts to push her away.

He looked at Pyrrha and wondered what she'd think if she knew what his power actually was. He almost wanted to tell her, since she was his partner, but it was too risky a secret to share. Besides, he had Torchwick to help him work on his Semblance. And he knew he could trust Torchwick.

To keep his mouth shut.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I was going to wait until later in the story to reveal this, but since there have been so many reviews about this, yes, I'm aware of the discrepancy between Jaune's Semblance and traditional images of necromancy. Necromancy is what Jaune calls his ability, because of what it means to him, and because of his own misunderstandings. It's not a textbook definition. A lot of you have been very close to the mark in your suggestions about it, though I'll refrain from giving away any clues here. We'll learn a little bit more about it in the next few chapters, I promise._

* * *

Jaune didn't encounter any other students until he and Pyrrha had ascended the cliff-face and returned to Ozpin, who observed him and Pyrrha with a knowing smile before making a few notes on the device in his hands and sending them away to wait for the rest of the initiates to complete their test.

"So what do we do now?" he asked Pyrrha. She smiled, shrugged, and didn't answer. "I suppose we could try to find who else has finished. Where do you think they'd go?"

His stomach rumbled.

"I think you just figured it out," said Pyrrha, poking him in the gut. Jaune rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "You need more than cereal for breakfast if you're going to be fighting. All that energy has to come from somewhere," she admonished, in an almost motherly tone of fond lecturing.

"Hopefully there's more food left than there was this morning," Jaune groaned, remembering the state of the dining hall that morning. "Our classmates eat like barbarians."

Pyrrha gave him a quizzical expression.

"A balanced diet and more than one meal a day are among the luxuries of this school, Jaune. My father assured me that the food at Beacon is more than satisfactory before I left home."

Jaune cocked his head at that statement, mulling over her words. Her father? He supposed that any parent would look into their daughter's school of choice, but Hunting did tend to be a family profession.

"Did he go here?" asked Jaune.

Pyrrha nodded, a moment of hesitance flickering over her features so quickly that Jaune almost missed it. He wondered if her father might be a sore subject. A lot of trainee Hunters had lost their parents in combat - then again, she had spoken of him as if he still lived. He shrugged inwardly, deciding not to pry. He had his own secrets, and certainly wouldn't appreciate anybody asking too much about his own parents.

But Pyrrha continued speaking regardless, assuaging Jaune's curiosity.

"He didn't actually graduate," she said. "But it's where he met my mother. She missed a year of school when she became pregnant with me, but he chose to leave so she could finish her education."

"Sounds like a nice guy," Jaune commented. Pyrrha smiled warmly at him in return.

"He is," she said, meeting his eyes. She paused, and bit her lip, then put a hand on Jaune's arm. He tried not to flinch away from the sudden contact - succeeding, but unable to prevent his heart from leaping. "Jaune…" she began, trailing off.

He waited for her to finish, seeing the conflict clear as day in her face. It looked like this was something she didn't want to say.

"You might hear things about my parents. I want you to remember what you just said if you ever come across those stories. My father's a nice guy. No matter what tabloid garbage might have convinced people is true."

"What stories?" asked Jaune.

Pyrrha shook her head, meeting his gaze with steely determination.

"I don't want to repeat that nonsense. Just remember that whatever you might hear about me - or my family - has been spun to sell papers or stadium tickets. It's not true."

"Then what is the truth?" Jaune asked, quietly.

Pyrrha smiled softly, and squeezed his arm with the hand she still hadn't removed.

"Make up your own mind about that. Promise me that? Please?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. Her hair spilled across her shoulders and down her arm, causing the edge of her coppery ponytail to tickle Jaune's skin, just above where Pyrrha was holding him. There was an edge of desperation under her smile, and a sadness in her eyes.

Jaune put his hand on hers, squeezing it as she'd been squeezing his arm.

"I guess I can do that," he said. "I've not heard any stories yet, and I've already got the beginning of an idea of who you are, so I suppose I can fill in the rest of the details on my own, too."

Pyrrha let go of his arm, and beamed at him.

"On one condition," he added, and Pyrrha's expression froze. "You promise to do the same about me. No more looking up my transcript to choose your partner, okay?"

The tension left Pyrrha's face, and she flicked him gently on the chest.

"I already told you that I looked at your records after I made that decision. But I promise. I'll just ask if I'm curious about something next time."

"I can work with that if you can accept extravagant lies," joked Jaune, thinking of Torchwick - and his unwillingness to divulge his past in anything but the sparsest detail.

Pyrrha shook her head, resolute.

"No, Jaune," she said, more serious than he'd expected, given his joking tone. "I won't ask about things you don't want me to, but don't tell me lies. We're partners now. I can respect your boundaries so long as you respect me enough to tell me when I cross them."

"So you won't ask about my secrets so long as I don't try to pretend I don't have any?" asked Jaune, raising an eyebrow.

"That sounds overly complicated," muttered Pyrrha in mild exasperation. Jaune tugged on her ponytail and she yelped, looking at him in shock.

He grinned, and she stared at him, lost for words.

"I suppose it's a better compromise than I'd expect from most people. I thought I'd need the extravagant lies to keep anything private from my team."

"We'll have to find out who else is on our team before we know that," said Pyrrha. An impish grin flashed across her face, and she added a quick barb to her comment. "If we have three decent fighters you can just hide behind a rock and tell us all the weak spots on the Grimm we're fighting.

"Wouldn't that make me the team leader?" mused Jaune. He flashed Pyrrha a wicked grin. "Deal. I'll give orders from the rear while you sweaty grunts do all the work."

"Delegation and laziness," Pyrrha mused. "Traits common to military commanders. I suppose that does mean that you'd be a fitting leader."

"I doubt I'll get chosen for the leader's spot, but if I do, I'm having you court-martialled for mouthiness," replied Jaune. "Although I could look the other way if delegation of duty extends to homework. How are you with history essays?"

"Officers need an education," shot back Pyrrha. "If your grades slip, you're just another sweaty grunt like us."

"Great," groaned Jaune, dreading the onslaught of education several years ahead of where he'd ended his own schooling. "I suppose being a grunt isn't too bad. We can always mutiny if the leader is a pain."

"Keep that in mind if you get chosen as the team leader, Jaune," warned Pyrrha teasingly, nudging him in the side with her elbow. Jaune nudged her back, a little more firmly, and she let out a small laugh that sounded suspiciously like a giggle - before nudging him even harder.

He flew at least a foot to the side, slipping on a loose cobblestone, and crumpling into a heap, moaning in laughter and pain.

"Jaune!" exclaimed Pyrrha in horror. "I'm so sorry!" She rushed to pull him upright, only to be met with laughter, although Jaune couldn't help but wince between laughing, rubbing the spot where a bruise was sure to be forming.

"You hit harder than that Deathstalker," said Jaune, shaking his head in disbelief. "Do we even need two more people for a full team? You're a monster."

"Is that the beginning of an idea of who I am is?" asked Pyrrha mildly.

"Definitely," said Jaune. "Overeager warrior with the strength to back it up, smells slightly of cinnamon. Pretty sure you're a natural redhead." His lips quirked into a faint smile. "Easily impressed by rudimentary knowledge of Grimm."

Pyrrha pushed him playfully, thankfully with much less force than before.

"We're at a Hunter's Academy. Grimm Studies is one of our core subjects. We know a lot about Grimm, and will learn even more. But you weren't just acting from memorised facts or distant observations like most Grimm scholars. You were able to understand how they were thinking, how they would behave," she said.

"Surely Grimm behaviour is a big part of that class," said Jaune doubtfully.

Pyrrha shook her head.

"It's more about recognising them, effective combat techniques, and recounting battles to puzzle out weak spots. The way you were acting with the Beowolves, the amount you knew about the Deathstalker…" she trailed off. "It's like you'd lived among them. Experienced Grimm up close in a way that Hunters never do."

"I suppose I have," said Jaune with a sigh. "Hunters just drop in, kill the enemy, and leave. Surviving without being able to take them head on meant that I had to pay more attention to everything. But it still seems odd that we won't be studying Grimm behaviour," he added.

"Nobody wants to understand the Grimm," said Pyrrha quietly. "They're the enemy. The other. All anybody wants to know is how to kill them, and how to keep them away. We'd be able to combat the Grimm so much more effectively if we understood how they acted, but all we're ever taught is that they're soulless monsters that seek to destroy mankind."

"You sound like you disagree," observed Jaune.

Pyrrha shook her head.

"I'm just frustrated by how close-minded our approach to them is. Nobody ever asks why they act the way they do. Why they hate humanity. What they really are. Because the most important issue is always surviving today, and nobody can spare a thought for how we might survive tomorrow. The Grimm are the single greatest threat humanity has ever faced, yet we know nothing about them beyond their appearance and how to kill them. Is that all there is to know?" she asked rhetorically, turning to Jaune with her palms raised.

"Everything else about them is a fairytale or legend," replied Jaune, quietly. He was slightly taken aback by Pyrrha's intensity, but he could see her point. Unless they were fighting a Grimm, nobody wanted to think about them.

"I'm sorry," said Pyrrha, the ferocity fading from her blazing green eyes. "I get too carried away about this. I just hate that we've fought this war for generations and nobody really knows why."

"Isn't survival enough of a reason?" asked Jaune.

"Enough reason to fight. Not enough reason to win," she said quietly. "Even with Dust, our borders are always being pushed back, century after century."

She blinked, and pushed herself visibly out of those melancholy thoughts.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go find some lunch before I mistake your stomach for an Ursa again," she joked, trying to lighten the mood. "I shouldn't be such a misery. You just reminded me of an old argument with my Grimm Studies teacher back home."

* * *

Only hours later, the initiates had all finished their tests and been guided on-stage in front of the entire school, in groups of four. Pyrrha stood beside Jaune, and he took some reassurance from her presence in the face of so many people. The pressure of public spectacle was too much for him, and he hardly heard the previous team being announced.

"And finally, I give you Team JNPR, under the leadership of Jaune Arc!" announced Ozpin.

Jaune was already shell-shocked from the blinding lights and the crowd assembled, staring up at him and his classmates. This latest revelation only pushed him further into the state of stunned astonishment he'd been wallowing in since completing the test.

"Huh?" he grunted quietly. Even over the cheers of the audience, Ozpin must have heard, because he turned his head and smiled.

"Congratulations, young man," he said, loud enough to be heard over the cheering, but pitched only for Jaune to hear. Directly opposite him on the same stage, Blake smirked and brought her hands together in slow, soundless claps. Jaune smiled at her, then got the uneasy feeling that she was mocking him as that tiny smirk didn't change.

Gah. He was on edge enough being the centre of attention. Every little thing was just making him feel more stressed out. He'd been happier standing on a Deathstalker earlier that day.

He looked past his Deathstalker-hunting partner at his two new teammates. Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren. He didn't know what to make of them. They hadn't even met until Goodwitch had ushered them into standing together on stage for the team assignment announcement.

But soon the ordeal was over, and they were directed off-stage for the next teams to be announced. At Ozpin's instruction, Jaune led his team through a door behind the large screens set on the auditorium stage.

As soon as the door closed behind them, he let out a pained breath, and slouched against the wall.

"That was awful," he groaned.

"Aww, but wasn't it so nice to have everyone see our great new team?" asked Nora, as excitable as the entire crowd left back in the other room. "Ren, didn't you like having everyone celebrate our amazing victory?"

"I agree with our team leader," muttered Ren.

"Boo," said Nora. "You should be proud of how we found each other across leagues of Grimm-infested territory with only the wits of a sloth to guide us!"

"A sloth?" asked Pyrrha, bemused.

"Don't ask," said Ren, sighing.

Nora opened her mouth to complain, then shut it again, nodding in understanding.

"Yes, we should wait until we get to our dorm to share our secret signal, so no filthy eavesdroppers can steal our knowledge!"

"Nora," sighed Ren, and then gave up.

Jaune gave the other boy an amused glance. He looked exasperated, but it was a mild expression, as if he was used to this.

"Known each other long?" asked Jaune.

"We've been together since we were children!" chirped Nora. "Well, not together together, but we grew up together!"

"My condolences," muttered Jaune. Ren smiled faintly.

"You get used to it," he said.

"Hey!" exclaimed Nora, pouting. Her visage immediately brightened, however, as her erratic train of thought shunted into a new direction. "So how long have you known each other? I didn't think many other people would be sneaky enough to get the partners they wanted. Ooh! Maybe that's why we're on the same team?"

"No, we picked matching relics," replied Pyrrha. "The black rook pieces. Jaune and I only met yesterday."

Nora cocked her head in confusion.

"But we saw you two team up as soon as you began the test. Quick as a flash of lightning! I was so jealous, but I bet me and Ren were the second pair!"

"She kidnapped me," replied Jaune dryly. Nora gasped.

"Shall we head to our dormitory," interrupted Pyrrha, a slight tinge of pink suffusing her cheeks.

"Pyrrha Nikos!" scolded Nora. "You can't just kidnap boys and bring them back to our dorm room! Why I never would have thought you had such a sleazy side. You always looked so noble and honest on my breakfast table."

"Nora…" began Ren, only to have Nora immediately round on him.

"This is why you should never meet your heroes, Ren! They always let you down in real life. We have to hold her off so Jaune can escape. He's our team leader," she insisted. "We have to protect him!"

"We're all sharing the same dorm," said Pyrrha in bemusement. "I'm not kidnapping him. Right, Jaune?"

Jaune looked from one girl to the other, and then exchanged a long look with Ren.

"You did kinda kidnap me. But only one time. It's okay, Nora. I don't think she's going to do it again."

Nora looked like she wanted to protest, but Ren interrupted her. Forcefully. By wrapping a hand around her mouth, and somehow managing not to even wince as she bit down.

"I'm tired," said Ren. "And we've got classes in the morning. Let's have an early night."

"That might be best," murmured Pyrrha in assent, looking warily at Nora, still attempting to chew her way through Ren's hand.

"I'll make pancakes in the morning if you can show us where it is, Nora," he added. "I couldn't hear the Professor in orientation because you were talking too much."

Jaune tensed as Ren let go of Nora, but instead of retaliating, she beamed at all of them.

"Ren's pancakes are the best! Okay team, follow me!"

Silently Jaune wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Surely a night back out in the rain with some Beowolves might be calmer than this.

And then his scroll started beeping.

* * *

A few hours and a hasty escape into the city later, Jaune was back in Vale. The shattered moon hung bright overhead. Down on the ground, the light was a sickly yellow in comparison, coming from flickering streetlights and neon shop signs.

Jaune turned a corner into an alleyway full of noise and smoke. He grimaced at the hubbub. Against one wall, people queued to get into Junior's Club. A doorman in red-tinted sunglasses was slowly letting the eager crowd inside, at seemingly random intervals. He'd never been to anywhere like this before. Towns outside the kingdoms tended to be quieter places.

He sighed, regretting having come out this far. He'd known it was a bad idea from the start.

"Why did I let myself get talked into this?" he grumbled under his breath.

Roman wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gestured with his cane at the crowd.

"To see this! Hedonism at its greatest. Most of these people have no reason to be celebrating, yet they're partying the night away. This is the greatest ability of mankind, Jaune. Creating our own madness and joy on days where nothing important happened! This is what separates us from the Grimm," he declared grandly.

Jaune gave him a skeptical look, and brushed Roman's arm off.

"Nightclubs are what makes us different from the Grimm?" he asked, watching a smoker standing outside suddenly turn and vomit against the wall.

Roman grinned.

"The desire for nightclubs. For music, drinking, dancing, and all that comes with it. This is a place of artificial happiness. Turning money into pleasure and pleasure into money. Everyone who's having a good time tonight is doing it on purpose, not because it's been a good day. The energy of this place is life distilled!" he declared.

Jaune sighed.

"I'm not a fan of crowds. When you insisted I celebrate becoming my team's leader, I thought you had something more private in mind."

"Well, that won't be a problem," said Torchwick, flashing Jaune a knowing smile. "I have some business to attend to with the owner, so we'll be in his private room, not rolicking with the masses. Actually, I might need a hand with him."

And there it was. Jaune had suspected there was something more to Roman's insistence that he come out for a celebratory drink than just sentiment. He'd given in after Torchwick had persuaded - and badgered - him into coming out, but had wondered what he was getting himself into. Funnily enough, the idea of helping him out with some business seemed more appealing than joining the crowd writhing inside.

"Figures," said Jaune. "A favour from your new friend Jaune, is it?" he asked sardonically.

"Everything's on me tonight. You won't have to spend a penny. Fair's far," replied Roman. Jaune sighed, and nodded after a moment of protest.

"What's the plan?" asked Jaune.

Torchwick frowned, an uncharacteristic expression on his usually carefree face. He set his cane on the ground and leaned on it, staring at the bouncer in the red-tinted shades.

"No sense in repeating details you'll hear again when I explain to Junior. But in short, we had a deal, and he thinks I cheated him big-time. I need to set the record straight."

"Can't be a criminal without an honest reputation," joked Jaune.

Roman raised an eyebrow at him, and then tipped his hat in a mock salute.

"You jest, my young friend, but you're closer to the truth than you know. You can be a petty thug or thief no matter how dishonest you are, but the upper echelons of crime rely on trust, reliability, and integrity. It's a business, kid. And if you don't play it fair, your stocks go down. Junior won't work with me with this misunderstanding in place, even though we go way back. That's the way it goes. Just like you Hunters. Teamwork and trust against a common enemy."

"The law?" suggested Jaune.

"Sometimes," said Roman. "Other times, connections. Resources. Sobriety. Lose the man, you lose his assets."

Jaune snorted in amusement. In a twisted way, it felt like Torchwick was giving him advice on how to lead his team. He looked at his dapper criminal companion speculatively. Perhaps he was. There was always another motive behind everything Torchwick did. Perhaps this disguised advice was part of his way of repaying the favour Jaune was going to be doing for him tonight. Asking outright would just disappoint Roman for its lack of subtlety, so Jaune phrased his question carefully.

"Have you decided to mentor me in your criminal enterprises?" he asked, his voice thick with good-natured sarcasm.

"Oh, just mentor you in general," replied Roman offhandedly. Jaune's eyes narrowed. Gotcha. That was as good as a confession to the question he'd actually meant to ask.

Roman patted him on the head fondly.

"Can't have you running around witless all the time. Our friendship is only just beginning, so I'd best make you into a man worth my time, eh?"

That statement brought a whole mix of feelings to Jaune. He enjoyed Roman's company and was grateful that the older man had taken an interest in befriending him, but he couldn't shake the uneasy sense that his friend was after something. Jaune exhaled through his nostrils, and decided that he was just happy to have a friend. Whatever Roman had plans for, at least he knew that he'd be returning the favour. The last few days proved that much. If not for Roman he never would have gotten into Beacon. Never met Blake, and Pyrrha. Or his other teammates - who he had yet to really meet, but that was something to look forward to.

Yeah, Jaune decided. He owed Roman big-time, even if the other man said that they were even. So he'd play along with this charade of helping one another out, and see where it went. It might even be fun.

The doorman suddenly noticed them, and shouted to another man inside the club. Jaune tensed. Or it could be dangerous.

"Did you bring your weapon like I asked?" murmured Roman. Jaune nodded. "Good. I'll try to talk our way past the goons, but the big guy might be a little more open to listening if he's held down by an Ursa."

Jaune laughed quietly. Could be dangerous, could be fun. Alright then.

Four more men rushed out of the door, alarming the queue of clubbers. Jaune noticed the red swords hanging at all their waists, all identical as the suits and glasses.

"So obviously this is a gang," Jaune muttered to Torchwick.

"In uniform, mind you. They're a classy bunch as far as gangs go," he replied, grinning at Jaune before sauntering towards the thugs, still wearing that manic expression. Jaune felt his stomach clench, but followed a step behind.

"Why hello there, boys!" drawled Torchwick. The goons glared, and the doorman put his hand on the hilt of his weapon.

"You have some nerve showing your face here after what happened last time. Those were our men, you bastard," the doorman snarled.

Torchwick leaned on his cane in a relaxed posture - both non-threatening and all the more insulting for it. Although Jaune could tell that it would only take a flick of his hand to bring the weapon to bear, despite outwards appearances. It was all an act.

The goons continued to glare, but didn't attack. Jaune hoped that was a sign they were buying Torchwick's act.

"Last time I was here your boss and I had a bit of a disagreement, I know. But things didn't play out the way he thinks. Now that he's had a chance to cool that bear-temper of his, I've come back to see if he'll listen to what actually happened," said Roman.

"Don't badmouth Junior in front of us, slick," demanded one of the goons.

Roman sighed, and raised his left hand in the air, palm outwards.

"Come on now, you work for the guy. You know what he's like when he's got his mind set on something. A job goes wrong, somebody has to pay. And he doesn't always pay attention to who owes the debt for fucking it up. Not an insult!" he exclaimed quickly. "Junior's a fierce guy. It's just how he is. But I'll bet you've all got the blame when things get in the way of his plans, even when there's nothing you could have done better. I'm right, aren't I, boys?" he asked, sounding almost sympathetic.

Jaune could see the doubt creeping into the group of thugs. Even though their expressions were halfway hidden by the shades, the tension was beginning to leave them. They looked less ready to attack than they had a moment ago.

"Fuck, you can spin your bullshit on him. See if he decides you need a beating," said the doorman. "I'll be right there if that's the way he calls it. But if he's wrong about the men you -" he broke off, as if he was about to say something else, then snorted in derision. "That you lost. Then he'll want to know. And so do I. My brother was with you that night. I want to know if I'm breaking your skull open for him."

Hearing the doorman speak, Jaune knew he'd made a bad move in giving Torchwick information. It was all just ammunition for the crook to use against him.

"If your brother was there, you'll definitely want to hear this. I didn't kill him, no matter what Junior was screaming when he threw me out of here last time I visited," said Torchwick.

Jaune felt his regret at coming out seep back into full throttle. Great. He'd guessed that Torchwick might need him as some extra muscle, but not that there was a body count behind this visit. It was too late to back out now. He swallowed his indecision, and stepped forward to stand beside Roman. May as well go all the way.

"The sooner we get to Junior, the sooner you find out what happened," said Jaune. "You know he won't like it if we throw out the details in the middle of the street - in front of your customers," he added, gesturing at the crowd of onlookers who, miraculously, appeared to still be waiting to get into the club, although they'd backed up a fair way.

"Who the fuck are you?" demanded the doorman. Jaune stared at him, unblinking. "Oh, hell with it. Ricky, take Torchwick and his new flunkey to the boss. Back room. Get them there and send someone to fetch him if he's tending bar. Got it?"

"Right," answered one of the goons, and held the club door open, gesturing for them to move inside. The other suits moved aside to make way for them to pass.

The music inside was deafening. Jaune flinched as they entered the main room. It struck him like a wave of air and energy, making him feel as disoriented as the flashing lights everywhere. One moment it was dark, the next a flare of colour illuminated undulating masses of bodies on the dancefloor. It was swelteringly hot, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and drink.

"Normally I'd be irked at the interruption," shouted Torchwick over the music. "But you did good out there, kid. Real good. I had them convinced, but you knocked them over the edge. I set 'em up, and you took 'em out. Perfect timing."

"I'm all about the killing blow," quipped Jaune. Roman punched him in the shoulder, a look of approval on his face.

Soon they were inside Junior's private rooms, thankfully soundproofed against the noise of the club. Jaune could still feel the beat of the music thumping through the floor, but thick pads of red leather on the wall dampened the sound to something distant.

Roman took a seat on a sofa made from the same red leather, sprawling out in the very image of comfort and ease - despite the confrontation that Jaune knew was heading their way. Jaune leaned against the padded wall, unwilling to sit incase this broke into a fight instead of a conversation.

The door burst open, letting in a roar of music, and then the roar of anger.

"Torchwick! I don't know how the blazes you managed to talk your way in here, but I told you that if I ever saw your smug face in my club again, I'd have you hacked into pieces!"

The man pulled out a blood-red cleaver, and charged towards Roman.

"Jaune?" called Roman nonchalantly. "Ursa."

And then there was an Ursa.

"Hold him still," he snapped urgently. "Don't injure him - yet."

Junior swore at them, but remained perfectly still, crushed under the bulk of Jaune's Ursa. The Ursa growled, deeper than any human voice could ever go. It sent a shiver down Jaune's spine and made a sensation like ice forming in the pit of his stomach. He imagined the effect was far worse for Junior, face to face with the beast.

"We're here to talk. You didn't hear my answers last time. You invented your own before I even got back to speak to you, you stubborn ass" said Torchwick. "Your mind was made up, and even the broken-moon truth can't change your mind when it's set. Hear me out and we'll let you up and walk out of here. Believe what you want afterwards, but take a step back and hear my fucking words, got it?" he demanded.

Junior swore loudly at Torchwick.

"That meant yes," said Roman to Jaune. Jaune gave him a skeptical look. "Kid, me and Junior go way back. That was a yes. Trust me."

"If he goes for your head again, I'm not stopping him a second time," said Jaune with a wry smile. "You'll have to clean up your own mess." And then he released the Ursa. It dispersed into a cloud of golden motes of light which shimmered in the air before disappearing, leaving black spots flashing across Jaune's eyes. He blinked until his eyes cleared. By the time the blinding spots had gone, Junior had gotten back on his feet.

So this was the boss. Jaune eyed him cautiously. The name was obviously ironic, as the man was huge. And hairy. All the way up his arms and down his partially unbuttoned shirt Jaune could see thick dark hair. He wondered if this bear of a man was actually a bear faunus. The traits could be as subtle as body hair, sometimes. Not everyone got kitty ears - but as soon as he thought that, he pictured this huge, angry man with a pair of cute round teddy bear ears sticking out of his head, and laughed.

Junior turned his attention on Jaune, who gritted his teeth, cursing silently.

"Who's the new flunky?" Junior growled, and Jaune relaxed. His laugh had distracted the raging bear instead of changing the target of his anger - although he still looked ready to kill.

"This is Jaune," said Torchwick, swinging his legs back around, and climbing to his feet. "But he's no flunkey, lackey, minion or goon. Not like your army of suits and shades. He's a partner."

"Hnf," grunted Junior. "Never saw you as the type to take on a rookie partner."

"He impressed me," said Torchwick, looking at Jaune with gleaming eyes. The look made Jaune feel uncomfortable, but he took a certain amount of pleasure at being announced as a partner rather than another minion."

"Flotsam tells me you have intel on my men. The ones you killed. What bullshit is this?" demanded Junior, suddenly all fire and brimstone again.

"Flotsam?" muttered Torchwick. "What kind of a mother would name her son...oh, forget it. I didn't kill them. A Hunter and some weird kid with a red scythe interrupted the robbery."

"Two Hunters," added Jaune.

"What?" asked both men simultaneously, before exchanging glances, then looking back to Jaune.

"Red's at Beacon with me," he explained.

Torchwick looked pleased, and folded his arms, quirking an eyebrow at Junior.

"There you have it. Two Hunters. I didn't kill them off for fucking it up. You know that's not my style. They're locked up."

Junior gave Torchwick a long, appraising stare.

"Not your style, but it sure fits with the crowd you run with these days," he said. Jaune grimaced at the reminder. The White Fang. Yeah, they weren't exactly known for preserving human life. Rather the opposite, in fact. "I thought they might have learned something on the job that you didn't want anyone to know. Your new friends kill to keep their secrets, and if you're working with them, so do you."

Torchwick sighed, and gave Junior a solemn look.

"If they'd stumbled onto some of my work, sure, I might have been forced to. I won't deny that. But that's not what happened. I kept them well away from my other associates. Your men did street work and break-ins only."

"Hm," said Junior flatly, staring with a blank expression at Torchwick.

"If they died on loan to me, I knew you'd think everything you did. I took every precaution. But the shop we hit had a Hunter doing some after-dark Dust shopping, and the fight with little Red brought the attention of Glynda fucking Goodwitch," said Roman bitterly. "Nearly destroyed my Bullhead, and I lost most of the loot from that job. Then word gets out that I'm killing your men in a tantrum, and who'd work with me after that?"

Junior snorted, and walked over to a cabinet on the far wall.

"The White Fang put off most of our associates. That was just the tipping point. Proof you'd gone too far to work with," he said, pulling out a glass decanter and three small glasses.

Torchwick took his seat on the sofa again, and gestured for Jaune to join him.

Junior took an armchair opposite, and set the glassware on the table between them.

"Say I believe you. I take back what I said, I'll lose a lot of face. I'll lose what you gain from going back on my words."

"Or you put on a show of strength. Get your men back. Break them out to say nobody can take what's mine," suggested Roman.

"And how do you propose I do that? I'm running a discrete operation here. Off-market goods and information, that's my game," retorted Junior, pouring a bright green liquid into each of the glasses. Jaune flinched at the sight, wary of whatever horrible, obscenely strong drink that this might be.

"I'll handle it. You just need to come along for the ride - and to greet your boys at the hole in their cell walls. First thing they see will be their boss coming in person to break them out. I'll arrange the work. You just be in place to collect them when I open up the way. Spread the word that I was lying low, planning the operation this whole time. That we're working together and both of us are coming out on top because of it."

Junior chuckled.

"Always the theatrics with you. Alright. I can see this working. But it won't get your network back together. I'll work with you again if you can pull this off, but I don't know how many will come back to the fold because of this. Like I said, it was an excuse. The Fang is the real reason your contacts are keeping away. They just didn't have the right moment to back off until the fiasco with my men - and you said Goodwitch? And you got away? Damn."

Roman reached for a glass, raised it to his lips, and took a deep sip.

"Fucking Goodwitch. She even gave Jaune here blueballs this morning. Tangled up with one of his classmates in the same sleeping bag, and Goodwitch throws him across the room while he's asleep."

Junior barked a laugh.

"You mentioned Beacon before, kid. Notch in the bedpost before you even got a bedpost? Nice."

"A notch in the sleeping bag just doesn't have the same effect," mused Torchwick. "Although counting your conquests with little lines is so crass," he sighed.

"Still, first day. That's both crass and class," commented Junior, laughing.

Jaune groaned.

"Nothing happened. We just slept next to each other. Goodwitch found us in the morning and accused us of doing something we hadn't even done!" he protested.

"Oh, yes. We're constantly getting accused of doing things we haven't done, eh Roman?" asked Junior, winking at Torchwick.

"And our greatest accomplishments go unnoticed," bemoaned Torchwick. And then he paused, and nudged Jaune in the ribs. "But that's why they're our greatest accomplishments, so we don't feel too bad about it. You, on the other hand, are a trainee Hunter. I expect to see your face on a poster by the end of the year!"

"A wanted poster?" asked Jaune, half sarcastically, and half sincerely.

Roman hit him on the back of his head with his cane.

"Don't talk to me about wanted posters, you vandal."

Jaune laughed to himself, and finally gave in to his curiosity and tried the drink. Huh. Instead of burning bitterness, it was a delicious, cool, and sweet drink. He couldn't even taste the alcohol, though he could see that it was fairly strong by the label on the decanter. It tasted like melon.

"This is much better than what Roman drinks," he said to Junior, who roared in laughter.

"I own a bar," said Junior. "He owns a fancy suit. So he buys by the pricetag, and I buy for the flavour."

Jaune looked at Roman.

"Yeah, I can believe that," he said, smiling. Roman scowled, and raised his cane threateningly again.

Junior slouched back in his chair, holding his glass high, and studying Torchwick with a curious expression.

"So why'd you bring the kid? The Ursa trick was impressive, but we both know you could have taken me down just as easily."

"I wanted to introduce him to you," said Roman. "He's a new friend. I want your crew to know he's drinking in here with us. That he's on our level, not theirs."

"You've got a lot of faith in him," mused Junior. "Surprising, coming from you."

"Think of it as him making an investment in me, and maybe it'll seem more normal," said Jaune, pouring himself another drink, and knocking it back in one go.

"Hah, yes. That fits. Sharp of you to notice. But most people get out of his way when Torchwick starts getting them to owe him favours," said Junior. "You seem smart enough to know the way that this kind of debt can go. So what gives?"

"Are you trying to steal Jaune from me?" grouched Roman, giving Junior a sour look. Junior just laughed in response.

"He owed me the first favour," said Jaune. "And it was fifteen feet tall with teeth and bone spikes."

"Damn Cave Ursa. Twenty rifles couldn't take it down," muttered Torchwick.

"That's the way of older Grimm," said Jaune. "Bullets don't do any lasting damage. You have to get up close and personal. Dust rounds just annoy them."

Junior whistled.

"Sounds like a good drinking story," he said.

"Mix some cocktails and I might just tell it," drawled Roman. "Jaune would be too modest and leave out the fun parts - and probably say too much about the parts I need kept secret for now."

"White Fang?" guessed Junior.

Roman shrugged.

"Minor details could give away their location, numbers, firepower - and besides, I'm the better storyteller."

"A fringe benefit of being a skilled liar," added Jaune.

Roman raised his glass and grinned.


	7. Chapter 7

Jaune's hangover woke him long before the alarm on his Scroll went off. Between the repressed urge to vomit and dizziness, he felt as if he was back on an airship without any Aura to buffer him from the violent turbulence both outside the craft and within his body.

He opened his eyes to the early-morning light, and cursed Junior's cocktails. None of them had tasted of alcohol. They'd been some of the nicest drinks he'd ever tasted. But he'd be damned if his breath didn't smell like the bottom of a bottle.

Lurching unsteadily to his feet, Jaune managed to stagger across to the bathroom without falling onto anything - or anyone. He closed the door as quietly as he could behind himself, and rested his forehead against the mirror. It was cool to the touch, soothing away some of the ache in his head. He remained in that position for a while, eyes closed, until his bare feet grew unpleasantly cold on the tiled floor.

He opened his eyes again, straightening upright. This time he felt slightly more human than when he'd pulled himself out of bed. And there was something wonderful on the countertop before him. His toothbrush,

Jaune brushed his teeth twice, and stole a swig of mouthwash from one of his teammates. Even after all that, he could still taste the ghost of drink on his breath, but it was a start. He ducked his head under the tap in the sink, and let icy water run over his hair and down onto his face. He shivered in pleasure at the sensation, and ran his fingers through his wet hair.

With a quick glance at his reflection, Jaune could see the shadow of his late night printed clear on his face. Well, he thought, that wasn't a good impression to make on the first day of classes. And he was the first one up. So there was at least one bright side to this unpleasant start to the day - he would get to use the shower first.

Before stepping into the cubicle, Jaune checked the time on his Scroll. He smiled weakly. Half six. He must have only slept for about four hours, but he couldn't bear the thought of climbing back into the bed that had roiled underneath him like a hammock in a seastorm. At least that gave him plenty of time to get cleaned up.

A fierce spray of hot water, soap, and shampoo later, Jaune felt almost as good as new. He brushed his teeth once more for good measure, and then dried himself off with the fluffiest of the four towels that had been provided with the dormitory.

He'd brought his own, and so had the others in his team, but these towels were just so much better that he couldn't help but be grateful for whoever had decided that students were likely to turn up unprepared with the basic necessities like towels. He suspected Professor Goodwitch was responsible. She seemed to have the right combination of believing all the students were idiots and an obligation to prevent that idiocy from being a problem - although whether it was motherly protection towards the students in her care or simply cold professionalism, he had no idea.

As he made his way back into the main room of their dormitory, Jaune looked over the sleeping faces of his new team. Well, the blanket-swaddled heaps where their faces presumably were. He doubted that any of them would be up for a while yet, since they were so deeply asleep that the sound of his shower hadn't disturbed them.

Briefly he wondered how loud it would have been from this side of the door. He was sure that his future held some more late-night outings, both for training and to meet with Torchwick, and it'd be nice to know that he could sneak back in and clean off the sweat of combat without anybody noticing his absence. If his teammates saw him slipping out at night regularly then coming back in a state of disarray, they were bound to ask questions he couldn't answer.

The door looked solid enough, and it fit snugly in its frame, so Jaune hoped that it would be enough to block off most of the noise of the shower. He didn't want to bring battlefield sweat onto his bedsheets, after all.

Once he'd dressed and gathered his weapon, Jaune slipped out of the dorm, and attempted to make his way outside.

It didn't take him too long to navigate the winding corridors this time, but he was beginning to regret skipping out on the orientation tour by the time he finally escaped into the pale morning light. He shivered upon leaving the warm building behind.

Even though it was summer, the air was chilly this early. Jaune smiled to himself. Only a week or so of living in civilization proper, and he'd already begun to go soft. He jogged across the grounds, letting the exercise warm him, until he found an appropriately secluded spot. A cluster of trees were growing close to the Academy wall, and when he slipped between them, he found a decent sized clearing.

This would make a nice little getaway for whenever he needed to get out of the public eye. His dorm was comfortable enough, but he'd spent years roughing it, and felt at home outdoors. He sat against the wall, leaning against it and gazing upwards.

There were windows two floors up, but he doubted anyone would be able to see him unless they leaned out and looked straight down - which seemed very unlikely, considering he was leaning against the building which housed the classrooms.

He knew that he'd have to do his real training with his Grimm off-campus, but, for now, he dared to summon one with a tap on Crocea Mors.

His original Beowulf emerged, a monstrosity of bristling fangs and bone-spurs, but after a moment of scanning the surroundings for danger, it crouched down beside Jaune, and then finally curled up on the ground, resting its head in his lap.

Jaune snorted at the absurdity of the situation, had this been a normal Grimm, and rested his hands on the Beowulf's head. It was warm to the touch, as if it had spent a day in the sun. He closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the warmth of the beast wash away the morning chill. It seemed to help push away what remained of his hangover, too.

"You're not really a Grimm, are you?" he murmured to the beast draped over him. It growled in assent, and he sighed. It wasn't like he could just ask it to explain how his Semblance worked. That was like asking his sword how to cut something. He could only use his ability, observe, and learn.

He pushed an extra burst of Aura into being, and a second Beowulf joined them. This one curled up on his other side, burying its head in his side. Jaune shook his head, stifling a laugh. If his classmates had reacted so much to seeing him cuddled up to Blake, they'd lose their minds seeing him like this with a pair of Grimm, even if they were gold instead of black.

Since he'd only gained the ability to summon a second Beowulf since absorbing the Ursa in the White Fang tunnels, Jaune wondered if he'd be able to create a third if he'd succeeded in capturing the Deathstalker before Pyrrha had killed it. He smiled ruefully. He couldn't blame her for it. She'd thought she was helping, and even he hadn't known that the half-complete process of absorbing the dying Grimm would have a backlash like that.

Jaune knew that he'd have to warn his team to stay clear if he was absorbing a Grimm in future. Absorbing them could be passed off as an unusual finishing move, so he felt confident about letting them see that part of the process. All they'd see would be the Grimm glow and then disappear - and, in truth, it did work as a finishing move against weakened opponents. They were paralyzed while he was channelling his Aura into them, overwhelming them, and it was as effective as cutting off their heads at dispatching a foe.

He'd attempted to capture additional beowolves before, but never with any success. All attempts had just resulted in his Aura smothering the Grimm much, much faster than when he first absorbed them, and disintegrating the beast in question.

With a thought, Jaune dispelled both of his Grimm, and placed the sheath of Crocea Mors on his lap. He traced the sigils with a fingertip, careful not to let any stray Aura pulse through and reactivate them.

Since obtaining the Ursa sigil, he'd gained a second Beowulf, but the Ursa he could summon was much smaller and weaker than the monster he'd slain. Beowolves grew in strength by fighting in packs, whereas Ursa were solitary creatures. He guessed that if he obtained another sigil, he'd gain the ability to summon a third Beowulf, and his Ursa would grow.

A pity about the Deathstalker, he thought to himself regretfully, but knowing that there was nothing he could have done to change the outcome there. He resolved to find a new species of Grimm soon, though, to test his theory. Surely Roman would help.

He couldn't help but wonder if gaining the Ursa had increased his own strength, but knew he had no way to measure it, and leaned back with a sigh.

There were so many questions. He'd never thought much of his Semblance before, just used it to survive. And he'd only ever used his finishing move on Beowolves, so until that Ursa, he'd had no idea he could learn to summon other Grimm.

Jaune remained in that little clearing a little longer, until he could feel the sun warm his face. The change in temperature reminded him that time was passing, and he checked his Scroll. Almost half eight.

He snuck back into his dorm room, hoping nobody had noticed his absence - but, naturally, they were all awake and getting ready for class.

Nora and Ren gave him curious looks as he stepped through the door. Pyrrha was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of running water answered that question for him.

"Did you have breakfast without us?" asked Nora in a hurt voice. "Ren made pancakes!"

"I - ah - no. I just went for a walk to clear my head. I'm no good in the morning until I start moving," lied Jaune, feeling slightly guilty for walking out on his team on their first night and their first morning.

Abruptly the water shut off, and Pyrrha stepped into the room, clad only in a towel.

Jaune tried not to stare, but the towel was pulled tight across her body, not covering very much, and leaving little else to his imagination. Her creamy skin shone with droplets of water, and he was hit with the sudden realisation that her curves weren't revealed by her armour so much as covered up by it. He tried to keep his gaze above her neck, but if the knowing smile on her face was anything to go by, Pyrrha had caught his wandering gaze.

"Pity you didn't come back sooner," she said innocently. "Nora finished off the last of them."

"I think I came back at the right moment," said Jaune under his breath. Pyrrha arched an eyebrow, clearly catching his meaning. "Uh- at the right moment for us to go to class together, I mean. Since we're a team, we should all head to our first class together, don't you think?"

"We have your favourite subject first," said Pyrrha nonchalantly. "Grimm Studies."

Jaune laughed nervously, and sat down on his bed. Pyrrha took a seat on hers, which was the one right next to him. She sat facing him, so close that their knees were almost touching. He swallowed, trying not to react as she stretched upwards, pushing her chest out with the motion, as she tied her hair back into its long ponytail.

A plate of pancakes miraculously appeared on his lap.

He glanced up to see Ren standing there, wearing an apron and holding out a fork and bottle of syrup.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Thanks." He glanced at Pyrrha, who suddenly seemed confused.

"I thought Nora ate all the pancakes," she said, bewildered.

"So did Nora," said Nora in a threatening voice.

Ren took off his apron and bundled Nora's head in it. She flailed at him and squawked in discomfort. The tiniest of smiles appeared on Ren's face, and he swiftly dodged Nora's grasping arms, then darted closer to tie the apron strings tightly around her head.

Jaune dug into his pancakes quickly, both so he could bury his face somewhere away from Pyrrha's scantily clad body, and out of fear of Nora once she escaped. Although she didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to get out of the apron.

Pyrrha stood suddenly, and Jaune leaned back to avoid having his face buried into her chest. Not that he'd have objected, but he felt like motorboating your partner on the first day of school was not a good direction to go in, accidental or otherwise. She stepped around his bed, and headed back into the bathroom.

Now that Jaune felt safe looking up without his eyes wandering, he could see the scene unfolding before him. Nora was attempting to attack Ren and free herself, but had somehow only succeeded in wriggling her face out through a hole in the apron, giving the impression that she was wearing a bonnet. Ren was fending her off with a spatula.

Jaune laughed to himself, and hurriedly finished his pancakes.

"Thanks for cooking for us, Ren," he said. The other boy gave him a brief nod in recognition. He didn't seem overly exerted by fending off Nora, so Jaune figured he was just a quiet person.

As everyone else seemed busy, Jaune gathered the dishes and began to wash them in the small kitchen. It seemed like their dorm consisted of three rooms - the shared bedroom, the bathroom, and a tiny kitchen with very little in the way of appliances. Really, it just had a kettle and a few pans, along with a cooker to use them on, along with a sink. Jaune guessed that it was supposed to be more for snacks and drinks than meals, which would all be in the main cafeteria. This kitchen was just for anyone who got hungry after meals were over.

There really wasn't much room for four people in this dorm, but Jaune didn't mind the tight fit. He was used to spending time in close quarters on the road with strangers, huddled around a campfire. Distance meant danger. If you were all together, then there was no chance of stragglers being picked off one by one.

His main concern was that there were two girls on the team and they were all sharing a room - but then Pyrrha came back from the bathroom, fully dressed in her uniform. He shrugged to himself. That was one way to make it work, he supposed. And it wasn't as if he objected to the daily sight of scantily clad women.

He'd certainly woken up to worse sights than Pyrrha in a towel.

"If we're all ready, we should probably head to class," he said "Do any of you know where the Grimm Studies classroom is? I kinda skipped out on the tour."

"Nora was impersonating a sloth when we were in the academic building," said Ren dryly. Jaune stared at the girl, who beamed, still wearing the apron as a bonnet. He decided not to ask for details as he watched Ren patiently unknot the strings holding it onto her.

The three of them turned in synch to look hopefully at Pyrrha, who looked torn between laughter and throwing something at them.

"I think I can remember the way," she said, holding back her amusement.

"Yay!" exclaimed Nora. "Team JNPR's first mission: get to class! Lead us to victory, Pyrrha!"

"Class," corrected Ren quietly.

"Lead us to class, Pyrrha!" cheered Nora, before wilting. "Aww, class?" she asked pitifully. Ren put a hand on her head and pushed her off the bed she'd been sitting on."

"Well, we are at school," said Pyrrha.

Jaune refrained from commenting, although he sympathised more with Nora's sentiment than Pyrrha ruthless use of logic. Pyrrha was correct, however, and the team made their way to class in varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Five minutes into Professor Port's lecture, Jaune completely understood why Pyrrha had been so impressed by his knowledge of Grimm. He struggled to keep his eyes open after that late night - the only good aspect of the Professor's pompous storytelling voice was the constant jump in volume as he got excited. Every time that Professor Port began a sentence or ended a particularly - to his mind - important section of the story, he'd raise his voice in emphasis.

Jaune could feel his head throbbing in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the amount he'd drunk last night. No, he was certain that his hangover had been washed away by his hot shower and the cool morning air.

Blake and her teammates were sitting in the front row, on the other side of the classroom. He tried to catch her eye, but she didn't look back at him, so he gave up on that idea. He was amazed that she could keep an interest in the lecture at first, but then noticed the book lying open on the desk in front of her, and smiled.

Of course. She was just ignoring the pompous windbag to read. The sound of muffled giggles were coming from her teammates, however, and Jaune tried to surreptitiously catch a glimpse of what they were laughing at.

All he could catch was that it was something Ruby was doing to amuse Yang - and that their final member, Weiss, was incredibly pissed off about it.

Professor Port must have also caught on, because he cleared his throat emphatically, staring at the girls until they were quiet, and then continued to tell his story.

"In the end, the Beowulf was no match for my sheer tenacity, and I returned to my village with the beast in captivity and my head held high, celebrated as a hero!" announced Port, bowing with unnecessarily dramatic flourish.

Jaune gritted his teeth. He was certain that the Professor was a pompous ass, but that was a terrible story to tell trainee hunters. Nevermind his boasting and awful droning, Port was supposed to be teaching them - and that story was not a good example to follow.

"Did you want to be a hero so much that you were willing to endanger your village by bringing a Beowulf home?" snapped Jaune, unable to help himself. He immediately regretted the outburst, and realised that he was standing, his fists clenched. Pyrrha's hand on his arm was a sudden, soothing presence, and he forced himself to calm down. But the whole room - including a very displeased teacher - was staring at him now, and he knew that he couldn't just sit down after effectively insulting the man. He had to at least explain himself, although he wished he could just hide under his desk and wait for class to end.

"You should have killed it the moment you overpowered it," Jaune continued in a calmer voice. "Beowolves often feign injury to escape, and it could have torn you to pieces as soon as you came close enough to tie it up and put it into your wagon. Or even if it was stunned, it could have easily broken its bonds once it had had a chance to heal. You risked setting it loose in the middle of a community of defenceless people, just so you could have a trophy!" Jaune's voice rose at the end, and he struggled to moderate his voice back down to reasonable tones.

"Being a Hunter isn't about being a hero. It's about protecting people."

Port stared at Jaune silently from underneath his thick eyebrows, and Jaune felt increasingly uncomfortable. He sat down, fidgeting under his desk, and regretting having said anything.

"Well now, it seems we have someone in our midst who has the ideals of a true Hunter. Tell me, young man, do you have the skills to back it up?" asked Port, his tone betraying nothing.

"I'm still alive," said Jaune, defiant but nervous.

Port continued to stare at him, and Jaune twitched under his oppressive glare. He hadn't meant to speak out of turn; it had just happened. He didn't take back what he'd said, but he wished that he'd just had the good sense to keep his head down instead of acting without thinking.

But then Port threw his head back and burst into a deep and jovial belly-laugh, surprising Jaune - and given the soft sigh of relief beside him, Pyrrha as well. Jaune guessed that she'd been worried for him, and he flashed her a grateful smile.

"Well said, young Hunter! Well said! And I must say, while you are correct that a Hunter must always be careful to dispatch a foe properly, and never endanger innocents, I had been commissioned to capture the beast, not simply kill it. Killing it in the woods would have made my village safe, but none of them would have truly felt safe without seeing proof of the beast's demise," declared Port. "And, of course, knowing that they had such a stalwart protector in their midst, should another Grimm venture nearby," he finished, winking at Jaune.

Jaune sighed in relief, slumping in his seat. He'd been terrified of making an enemy of the teacher of his first class, but the man had brushed it all off. He was grateful to see that there was someone reasonable underneath the braggart.

"I had intended to ask for a volunteer for this next stage of class, but as you have already announced yourself as a true Hunter in training, I think you'll be a suitable choice, Mr Arc," said Port, a dangerous gleam in his eye. "Why don't you come on down here."

Jaune flinched. Yeah, he didn't think any teacher would appreciate being corrected in their own class.

He pushed himself up, and made his way down the stairs to the centre of the room. Professor Port moved to one side and pulled open a curtain.

In an alcove, a steel cage had been lurking this whole time. At the sudden light, the beast within began to rage inside, slamming its weight against the bars, and roaring in anger at being trapped.

"Are you ready to face the darkness of our world, young Hunter?" asked Professor Port rhetorically.

Jaune grimaced, and unsheathed his sword. He left his shield as a sheath. Whatever was in that cage was small enough that he wouldn't need to block any huge blows, and his shield was a cumbersome thing to carry into battle. Leaving it dormant would give him the edge in terms of dexterity and speed.

He suspected the cage contained a Beowulf, crushed into a space too small to drive it mad enough to be a spectacle in a fight, but couldn't really tell. The alcove was shrouded in darkness, and only glowing red eyes were visible.

"In that case, begin!" announced Port, opening the cage with a blow from his weapon, and releasing an angry Grimm into the classroom. Jaune decided that his earlier impression was right - this Professor was an irresponsible windbag. If another student had been picked, they could have been seriously injured. He narrowed his eyes, and resolved to end this quickly, lest the Grimm turn its attention on the other students watching the match from their seats.

The Grimm stepped forwards slowly, snorting as it emerged from the shadows. Bone-white tusks emerged first from the darkness. A Boarbatusk. Jaune shifted his weight to present a side profile, making himself a smaller target.

The beast took a few more steps out, until it was fully visible, then shook its flanks and roared, revealing a mouth full of huge teeth behind those tusks. Uneven plates of patterned armour covered its back, spreading out from its mask and down its flanks.

Jaune had fought enough Boarbatusk to know how this was going to go. They were weaker than Ursa, but stronger than Beowolves, relying on individual attacks of overwhelming force rather than any sort of cunning.

The Boarbatusk pawed the floorboards, huffing angry breaths. Jaune tensed. That was the signal. It charged. The crash of its weight against the floor made a thunderous drumbeat, almost as fast as Jaune's beating heart, but he forced himself to remain in position until it was almost upon him.

Once it was close enough for him to feel the heat of its fetid breath, Jaune leaned towards the right, as if to dive out of the way. The Boarbatusk followed his movement, and swung its tusks in that direction, trying to catch him as he dove away - but it was a feint. As soon as the Grimm had committed itself to moving in that direction, it was too heavy to change its course. Jaune was light on his feet, and leapt to the left of its charge, catching himself on the ground with both feet and one hand. The other held his sword, point-first.

Jaune dove forwards, letting his momentum add strength to his blow, and pierced the Boarbatusk at the base of its neck. Attacking from below had allowed him to avoid its armour, but he didn't stop there. Even as it writhed, trying to reach him with its tusks, Jaune pushed upwards, using his whole body as leverage to push Crocea Mors up through its neck and into the beast's brain.

It was a hardy beast, still standing even with a sword buried deep in its brain, and snapped its teeth, shaped like oversized jagged bricks, in Jaune's direction. He managed to slide out of its bite without losing his grip on Crocea Mors, and activated his Semblance, pushing his Aura into the Boarbatusk.

Nothing seemed to happen at first, but the beast froze. Jaune figured that his Aura was flooding the creature from the inside first, given the position of his sword, and sure enough, it was only moments later that the trademark glow of his power spread across the Boarbatusk's flanks, and then the armour plating upon its back, and finally its mask.

The Grimm roared in defiance, and then imploded into a cloud of golden motes. Jaune stood, and they swirled about him in flickers of gold and white before vanishing into nothingness.

He glanced down at his sheath, and watched as his third golden sigil form, this one stylized after a Boarbatusk's mask. It was a simple, almost elegant representation - four eyes, the shape of the mask, and two tusks, illustrated by a single line of gold upon the white metal of his sheath. Jaune let out a deep breath, and sheathed his sword, turning to face Professor Port.

Jaune was prepared for a question about his finishing technique. He was prepared for a critique of his combat skills.

He was not prepared for the roar of applause that filled the room, started by Professor Port's enthusiastic clapping.

"Huzzah!" bellowed Port, over the sound of the other students as they joined in with the applause. "An excellent victory! Efficient, effective, and without any wasted effort. Bravo, young Hunter. Bravo!"

Jaune ducked his head in embarrassment, his cheeks flooding with heat. He just knew that he was blushing, and hated himself for it.

"Stay after class," finished Port, in a tone much less jovial than a moment ago. Jaune met his gaze, and saw a determined expression of narrowed eyebrows and a set jaw. He nodded in silent agreement, and was about to make his way back to his seat when Port began speaking again.

"And upon that bracing example of combat, class dismissed!" he announced. "Except for you," he reminded Jaune in a quieter voice, yet not so quiet that others couldn't hear it.

The rest of the class filed out behind him, as Jaune stood there awkwardly under Port's unwavering gaze. He didn't know whether to look away or meet his teacher's eyes. Was looking away disrespectful, or would a staring contest be taken as a challenge? He groaned silently. Even fighting a Grimm hadn't been enough to get him out of trouble.

"Good luck," whispered Ruby as she passed. Jaune gave her a weak smile, and hoped that he wouldn't need it.

When the room was empty, the door swung shut with a bang. The sound had the finality of a coffin lid being slammed shut, and Jaune dreaded what was to come next. He wasn't sure if he was in trouble for speaking out or about to be interrogated about his semblance, but Professor Port's expression was deadly serious.

The man stepped forward, and, unexpectedly clasped a huge hand on Jaune's shoulder.

"Ordinarily I'd reprimand a student for speaking out of turn like that," he began. "I'd remind them that I explicitly said that I'd been sent out to capture the Beowulf at the beginning of my lecture, and that a lack of attention is sloppy in a Hunter, and will lead to an untimely death. I'd also remind them that while I welcome any and all questions about my methods, I do not, under any circumstances, allow students to take on the role of teacher and correct MY mistakes." The Professor had a booming voice suited to the lecture hall, and it was hardly any softer this close up.

Jaune remained silent, waiting for his punishment to be announced.

"However, you put on an impressive performance against the Boarbatusk," continued Professor Port, "and I make sure to examine the records of all my students. Yours in particular stood out. Exemplary skill, glowing references - and living outside the Kingdoms until recently."

"Since I was ten," said Jaune, hesitantly.

"I grew up outside the Kingdoms myself - I trust you paid at least THAT much attention to my lecture?" asked Port, raising an eyebrow. Jaune nodded, and shifted his weight onto his other foot uneasily.

The large professor sighed, and let go of Jaune's shoulder.

"So who did you lose?"

Jaune froze.

"Oh, come now. A reaction that emotional can only come from experience. You've seen what happens when Grimm get inside a village without Hunters, haven't you?"

Jaune unclenched his fists, and forced himself to meet Port's eyes.

"More than once," he bit out. "Idiots catching Beowolves in nets to show off at home. Gates left open at night even when there were warnings of Grimm sightings nearby. That - that abomination of a travelling circus," he spat out, memories of villages he'd travelled through and watched be destroyed flooding his mind.

"You're from Underhusk?" asked Port, quietly for him, in what would be a normal person's speaking voice.

Jaune shook his head.

"No. I lived on the road, mostly. But I was there on the night of the circus massacre. I…" he trailed off.

"It's alright, lad. You don't need to talk about it. A bad business, that. And all the others." Port sighed, and peered intently at Jaune. "You've some real experience out there. I can forgive a little outburst once in a while, given the circumstances. But if you'd been listening all the way through class, you'd have heard the full story, wouldn't you?" he rebuked Jaune, gently.

"Sorry. I just spoke up without thinking," he muttered.

"And if you'd been listening, you'd have known how needless that interruption was. Now, I can't have students interrupting my class thinking that they know best when they just haven't been paying attention, but I can certainly understand why the thought of such carelessness would elicit a strong reaction from somebody who's witnessed the consequences."

"Sorry Professor," muttered Jaune, again.

"Don't be sorry. Be attentive. Here as well as out there," said Port, making a sweeping gesture with his arm, no doubt indicating the entire world beyond the confines of this classroom. "It'll keep you out of trouble in more ways than one."

"Yes sir," said Jaune, beginning to feel a little guilty for underestimating Port through his own inattentiveness.

"I'll consider your spectacular performance against the Boarbatusk recompense for the interruption, but let's not have it happen again, hmm?" If you have a question, phrase it as such. Don't lecture me in my own classroom," instructed the teacher. Jaune winced at the words. Yeah, he admitted, that's what he'd done. And it wasn't something any teacher would welcome. Port was taking it with a surprising level of understanding.

"I'll do better next time," said Jaune resolutely. Port patted him on the back so hard that he almost stumbled forwards, his stern expression turning into a smile.

"That'll do for now. But remember - outside the classroom, you won't always have the luxury of a next time. Go on, off with you," he finished, dismissing Jaune.

Jaune heaved a sigh of relief, and bolted from the classroom.

As soon as the door closed, he leaned against the wall outside, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He could take a telling-off, but Port had brought up terrible memories. The circus massacre had been one of the most harrowing things he'd ever witnessed. He remembered it and hated it almost as vividly as the day his parents died.

"That bad?" asked a sympathetic voice. Jaune snapped his eyes open to see Blake standing in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. She rolled her eyes and joined him, leaning against the corridor wall.

"Waiting. Obviously," she said.

"For me?" asked Jaune. Blake gave him a deadpan look, and Jaune smiled. Right. Of course she was. Unless she had a secret rendezvous with Professor Port planned. "What for?" he asked.

"My teammates are bickering. I was more interested in seeing what happened to you than hearing them squabble," said Blake. She gave Jaune a concerned look. "You're really shaken up. What happened in there?" she demanded with narrowed eyes.

"He just told me to pay more attention in class, and not interrupt him to bring up something he'd already mentioned."

"I don't know, you had a good point," mused Blake. "I don't remember him saying anything like that."

"Neither did I," said Jaune. "Evidently."

Blake stared at him, not asking anything, but obviously suspicious.

"Just a scolding wouldn't upset a five year old this much," she said. Jaune caught the hint, and relented under her determined lack of questions but obvious curiosity.

"He realised that I was speaking from experience. It brought up memories," he said.

Blake leaned against him comfortingly, satisfied with his vague answer. Jaune was surprised that she didn't ask for more detail, but grateful - both for the company and the lack of pressure to share. Perhaps it was because she didn't ask that he continued speaking, or perhaps it was because of the cat ears nestled under her bow, but Jaune took a deep breath, and tried to sort out his tumultuous thoughts.

He reached up to touch her bow, thinking of the Faunus he'd seen at that awful circus. She flinched in surprise, and jerked her head away.

"Don't go fondling me in public," she muttered. Jaune chuckled weakly, then looked her in her yellow slitted cat-eyes.

"Have you ever heard of the Circus of Subhuman Freaks?" he asked.

Blake stiffened.

"Yes," she said shortly.

"I expected you would have," Jaune said under his breath. "I was in a village once. Peaceful town. Farmers, mostly. A few woodcutters. One store for the whole town. It didn't even have a mayor. People just got on with their own business."

"Sounds nice," said Blake, but cautiously. The mention of the circus had set her on edge.

"It was called Underhusk," said Jaune.

Blake let out a sharp breath that sounded like a hiss.

"You were there?" she asked, adding up the facts. Jaune nodded grimly.

"People were excited when they heard a circus was coming into town, but nobody had any idea what it was going to be like. They set up their tent on the village green and sold tickets to anyone with Lien or food to trade."

He shuddered at the memory.

"Once the show began, it seemed innocent enough. People began to get worried when they brought out the Grimm, but the ringmaster assured the crowd that they couldn't escape the ring. They'd been fitted with Dust shock-collars that stunned them if they tried to cross the boundary. But that was when they brought out the other cages. Full of Faunus. Wearing the same collars."

"And people wonder why the White Fang exists," hissed Blake, her voice full of the same rage that Jaune had felt that day.

"The villagers were good people," said Jaune slowly. "All human. I don't think they'd ever seen a Faunus in their life. But they knew this was evil. It was the owner of the general store who went down first. He prized the collar off one of the Faunus, and then everyone was down in the ring, trying to set them free."

Jaune closed his eyes, horrific images from that day flashing before his eyes.

"But the ringmaster couldn't have people stealing his possessions," he spat out.

"So he unleashed the Grimm," finished Blake quietly. Jaune nodded, his throat thick with emotion.

"They killed him first. But that tent was a deathtrap. The Faunus were weak and malnourished. The crowd was confused, scared, and angry. There was only one exit. Seventeen of us made it out alive. A hundred people lived in that village. Not everyone had gone to the circus, but the Grimm tore the town it was a ruin," he whispered.

Blake slipped her hand into his and squeezed.

"I remember hearing about that two years ago," she said quietly. "I thought the Grimm just escaped. That the crowd got what they deserved. I was so angry."

"Does the truth make you feel any better?" asked Jaune, his voice empty of all emotion.

Blake didn't answer. She didn't need to. Jaune could see the guilt in her expression. He reached up and touched her cheek with his free hand.

"It's alright that you were angry," he said. "You didn't know."

"For two years I've thought that was just another crime committed by vicious humans. How many more lies am I going to find?" whispered Blake, speaking more to herself than Jaune.

"It was still the work of evil humans," said Jaune. "Just not as many as you'd thought. And that kind of person hurts everyone they meet, human or Faunus." He squeezed Blake's hand in return, and pulled her away from the wall. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No!" insisted Blake. "I'm glad you did. It's a good reminder that I made the right choice coming to Beacon. To let go of old hate." She sighed.

Jaune tugged on her hand, and forced himself to smile.

"I think we've flooded this corridor with melancholy. We should go somewhere else before Grimm start to show up."

Blake rolled her eyes, but allowed herself to be pulled along.

Before long, Jaune had dragged her outside. The sun had fully risen, and it was pleasantly warm outside. He wandered over to a sprawling oak tree, and dropped himself down at its base. Blake seated herself beside him in a more controlled fashion, tucking her legs underneath her skirt, and brushing leaves away from clinging to her clothing.

"We don't have any more lessons until this afternoon," said Jaune. "So I was hoping you'd come through on the deal we made."

"What deal?" she asked.

"Read to me," said Jaune. Blake rolled her eyes again, but didn't say no. "I won't stand a chance in history if I can't brush up on basic literacy first. But we have a few days until that class, so maybe you can help me get a running start."

"I'm not reading you a history book," muttered Blake, sounding disgusted. Jaune turned a pleading expression on her.

"But you promised to help!" he moaned. She glared at him briefly, then pushed him into a new position. "Hey!" he protested, only to stop complaining as she clambered into his lap, wriggling until she was sitting comfortably.

"I'll read my book aloud, and you can follow along over my shoulder. Tell me if I'm going too fast," she said.

Jaune shrugged.

"That might be a good start. I suppose I can try to remember what little I know of punctuation and grammar. Even learn to spell some of the thousand words I can say but not write down. But I'll need more involved help as well," he said reluctantly.

"I know," said Blake. "But I really want to finish my book." She gave Jaune a wicked smile over her shoulder. "Even you can't get between me and a good story."

"If it's a good story you should at least start reading from the beginning," complained Jaune. "Or I'll have missed out on half of what's going on." Blake's lips quirked upwards slightly.

"I don't mind starting again," she said softly, pulling a paperback out of her bag.

"So what's this about?" asked Jaune, peering over her shoulder at the cover.

"Shut up and listen," said Blake, and opened the book.

Jaune leaned back against the tree comfortably, and pulled Blake closer to him so that he could see the book better. She made a muffled squeak as he pulled her close to him, but then settled down upon realising why he'd done so.

Absentmindedly, he left his arm wrapped around her waist from where he'd pulled her closer. She rested her hands on his arm, holding the book open for them both to see, and began to read aloud in a slow, pleasant tone.

She was a much better storyteller than Professor Port.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: One of the great things about writing for a living fandom, for a show that's still being produced, is the way that I can add and adapt new material as the show reveals new things. This was always my plan for Jaune's Semblance, but the little surprise revealed in the last episode gives me a bit of precedent and history; something to work with and compare Jaune's abilities to. Which, honestly, is absolutely great. It helps make the fandom feel alive, just like all of your reviews do. Thanks to all of you who've taken the time to read and review. We hit 100 reviews at chapter four, 200 at chapter six, and 250 within a day of posting chapter seven. That kind of response is a big part of what's motivated me to write an upload another chapter only a day after the last one. I enjoy reading all your thoughts, so leave a review if you'd care to share your opinion on this chapter or the story as a whole._

* * *

Torchwick poked the Boarbatusk. It roared in defiance, but made no move to attack him, and he skipped backwards, clapping his hands in amusement.

He, Jaune, and the summoned Grimm were all in Torchwick's office at the White Fang hideout hidden in the ruins of Mountain Glen. Jaune had felt uneasy about even getting in a Bullhead with Roman again after the last time, but he couldn't exactly loose Grimm in Beacon or the city, and he needed to experiment with his new acquisition.

The walls were lined with crates of stolen Dust, save for a small space left for Roman's rickety wooden desk, behind which lay a map of Vale. Jaune smiled at the annotations marking the movements of cops and dumb cops, respectively, but then turned his attention back to Roman and his new golden Grimm.

"Oh, wonderful, Jaune. We really must see about getting you a full set of these," he declared, sweeping the hat off his head in a theatrical bow towards his Grimm-summoning friend.

Jaune dispelled the Boarbatusk, giving Roman a shrug that was half resignation, half agreement.

"That might prove difficult. I tried to get a Deathstalker during the Initiation test, but Pyrrha interrupted me," he said, grimacing. "The results were - explosive. I'll need a decent chance of being uninterrupted before absorbing a new Grimm."

"The plights of command," said Roman sympathetically. "Your minions always get in the way." He stood, and tapped his cane firmly against the metal grating which made up the floor, attracting the attention of the dozen White Fang grunts moving cargo around the room. "Speaking of which, dear minions - out!" He gestured towards the door with his other hand. When they looked at him in confusion, he rolled his eyes. "Out of this room, minions. Right now. This is above your paygrade."

Dropping the crates - albeit gingerly - where they stood, the Fang members stopped their task and filed out of the room. One of them looked back to give Roman a sour look which wasn't entirely hidden by his mask.

"Cut the attitude, Flopsy," mocked Roman, deriding the Faunus in question's rabbit ears. Jaune idly wondered if he was any relation to the rabbit Faunus at Beacon, but quickly dashed that thought. Down that road lay collectivism and racist assumptions. Not all Faunus were in league with one another, and not all Faunus who displayed an animal trait were related even distantly. Roman's casual contempt towards the Faunus had unsettled him during the time he'd spent at the White Fang base before moving to Beacon, but he'd quickly learned that it was just Roman's dismissive attitude towards those he perceived as underlings, not actual racism. After all, he was working hand-in-hand with the White Fang, so Jaune had decided that it was no different than the contempt Roman felt for human lackeys.

The door banged shut behind Flopsy, loud enough to show his displeasure.

"Such temper for a bunny," said Roman mockingly. "And everyone thinks of them as such sweet hoppy little creatures."

"You're enough of a dick to piss off an actual bunny, nevermind a highly trained terrorist bunny," teased Jaune. Roman grinned in response.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said. "Now, sit. Pull up a crate of fragile explosives. I've got news."

Jaune tentatively took a seat on one of the dropped crates, and looked up at Roman expectantly.

"So I've been doing a bit of digging for you. You got my interest when you called your Semblance necromancy, but there are no ghasts or ghouls or walking corpses following you around. You're summoning Aura constructs," said Roman.

"Yeah," said Jaune flatly. "I figured as much." He sighed, and looked at Roman uneasily. "I started calling it that when I was a kid. I didn't know what I was doing. All I knew was that the Grimm I'd killed was now my guardian."

"And that's fair enough. Hell, you learn to summon them by manipulating your Aura within their bodies as they die. Seems close enough to necromancy. The name works. But hearing about your new classmates at Beacon gave me an opportunity to learn some interesting tidbits."

Jaune raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the crate and waiting expectantly.

"About my Semblance? Don't tell me that someone else can do this," he said, his voice utterly deadpan.

"Not yet, from what I hear, but maybe one day."

Jaune froze.

He stood up, and walked over to Roman until they were only a foot apart.

"What?" he asked, flatly. "You were the one who cautioned me to keep this a secret. Said that Hunters would freak out at the presence of Grimm. Now you're telling me it's a normal Semblance?"

"That's the thing, Jaune," said Roman, excitedly, and utterly unfazed by Jaune's close proximity. "I'm starting to think it's not your Semblance at all. You're classmates with the youngest Schnee girl, right?"

"That's why you had the White Fang clear out?" asked Jaune, well aware of the tension between the organisation and Weiss' family.

Roman gave a lopsided shrug with one shoulder, and rapped the floor with his cane.

"Partly. But listen; the Schnee family have a hereditary Semblance. Glyphs."

"I'm aware," said Jaune dryly. "A lot of Dust Adepts use Glyphs. And with the easy access to purified Dust that they have, they can afford to throw high-level Glyphs around like anyone else would ordinary Dust bullets. What does this have to do with me?"

"Each Glyph has a different function, allowing them to easily mimic the effects of other Semblances," said Roman, dropping into what Jaune had dubbed his lecture-voice. "Of course, the effects of Semblances can be created by any Aura user with sufficient skill and willpower. A Semblance just comes as a natural instinct. Some people are faster. Some can manipulate elements or matter. A Glyph is just a shortcut to creating this effect."

"Right," said Jaune. "Like a blueprint to the ability instead of raw Aura manipulation."

"Exactly!" said Roman, and then paused. "Did they teach you this in class? I trained as a Hunter, but not at Beacon. I won't waste my time repeating what that harlot Goodwitch has already made you scribble down essays about."

Jaune shook his head.

"No. I just pay attention in combat. Even when it's just combat class, and I'm not the one fighting."

"Smart lad. Learn the competition," said Roman in an undertone. "But forgive me, of course you'd be doing that. You wouldn't be my protege if you didn't have sharp eyes and sharper wits behind them!"

"You're getting distracted by the sound of your own voice again," mused Jaune. It tended to happen a lot. Roman struck him in the shin with his cane, but the blow was cushioned by the leather of his boots, and had hardly been hard enough to hurt bare skin, in any case.

"Oh, hush. Appreciate the knowledge I have accumulated on your behalf and listen to your beloved mentor," announced Roman, the edge of mockery in his tone.

Jaune raised an eyebrow.

"I'm trying to, but all I hear is your bluster. What does Weiss have to do with my Semblance?" he asked.

"Well," said Roman, trailing out the word teasingly. "It seems that all members of the Schnee family possess the ability to summon Grimm familiars, although your classmate has yet to master this particular talent. Quite the disappointment to dear daddy Schnee, or so I've heard," he finished.

Jaune flopped back down on the crate, startled. So it was true. He wasn't the only one. Even if Weiss hadn't mastered the ability yet. He felt a wash of relief flood over him as he realised that he wasn't a freak after all, and then looked up sharply.

"So the whole Schnee family can do what I can?" he asked.

Roman shook his head, a wicked grin plastered over his face.

"Oh no," he said. "From what I can gather, they only summon a single familiar, not the variety that you do. I could be wrong, of course. They don't like to advertise their power too much - save to terrorize their enemies. Or employees, in the case of Daddy Schnee."

"So my Semblance has more potential because I'm not using Glyphs?" pondered Jaune aloud. "Just like Weiss can never speed herself up to match Ruby. I guess that makes sense. I get variety within one area, and they get to dabble just a little in lots of areas with their Glyphs."

But when he looked up, Roman was shaking his head, looking for all the world like a cat which had caught a canary stuffed with cream.

"That's the big thing, see," said Roman excitedly. "I don't think this necromancy - or summoning, or whatever you call it. I don't think it's your Semblance at all. Just one manifestation of it. The way you pour your Aura into the dying Grimm seems like a shortcut to teach yourself their shape, just like using a Glyph to summon one."

"So it's all just Aura manipulation?" wondered Jaune, finding it hard to believe. He'd spent years worried that his Semblance, so closely tied to Grimm, somehow made him part-monster himself. To have all those concerns thrown out in one conversation seemed almost unreal. He was suddenly glad to be sitting down, as the world spun around him.

"If I had to guess, your Semblance is giving you a hand. Same as the Glyphs, and yet done through different channels," mused Roman. "You said that you first learned to do this when you were a kid, desperate for a guardian against a world full of monsters?"

"Not my exact words," muttered Jaune, biting back a scathing response.

"Still," said Roman, trailing his words off thoughtfully.

"Still?" asked Jaune, prodding Roman in the chest when he didn't reply.

"I think you've managed to express your natural Semblance in a different way. An external guardian to protect you while you learned to fend for yourself. Kid," said Roman, leaning close, his eyes wide with excitement. "I don't think you've even found your real Semblance yet. You've somehow turned it inside out."

"Wouldn't that just mean I've changed it into something new?" asked Jaune.

Roman shook his head.

"No. Semblances are innate. It's like you've opened the back door to your house and never gone through the front. You've learned to invert it, but the real thing is still dormant inside you."

"Huh," said Jaune eloquently. "So you think I can unlock the real thing as well?"

"It'll be like having two Semblances. That's a serious leg-up on the competition. So I'd keep to our plan. Train at Beacon without your Grimm. Push your limits, and get as strong as you can. Who knows, maybe it'll end up as nothing. You'll learn to be a better fighter, if nothing else. But if I'm right…"

"Damn," muttered Jaune. Roman clapped his hands together and laughed.

"Exactly!" he cried. "I won't say this is unprecedented, but it's rare and valuable. Two of my favourite things."

"So you're basically saying that all on my own I make up three of your favourite things?" quipped Jaune, smiling slightly.

"It still only counts as one. Don't get too cocky."

"Of course not," said Jaune quietly. "That's your job."

"Never forget it," said Torchwick, flashing Jaune an exaggerated wink.

"I couldn't if I tried," replied Jaune, stifling a sigh of exasperation, even through his amusement.

"Now, all this is best kept between us, not for the ears of gossipy little mongrels in face-masks," began Roman, a more serious expression on his face. "But there is a more important reason I had them clear the room."

The sombre tone was unusual for Roman, and it immediately grabbed Jaune's attention.

"What is it? Trouble with one of the refugees that came with me?" he demanded roughly. "Is Sienna alright?"

"Who?" asked Roman, looking genuinely confused for a moment. "Oh, the fox Faunus who signed up when we met. No, no, she's doing fine. Good shot with a Dust-rifle and doesn't take shit from the rougher members of the crew. I forgot she was one of yours."

Jaune immediately felt the tension leave his body, although he couldn't quite relax with Roman still looking so serious. The man took life, death, and everything between as a joke, so any lapse in his jovial mood was a cause for serious concern.

"That cat Faunus you keep insisting that you're just friends with," Roman began. Jaune's eyes narrowed.

"Blake?"

Roman nodded.

"Blake Belladonna. She used to be part of the White Fang. A sort of apprentice to Adam Taurus. You wouldn't know him, but he was one of the big shots around here. Rumour was that he was calling the shots on some fairly major operations. Then she quit halfway through a mission and left him behind. Nobody's heard from him since."

Jaune clenched his hands so tightly that he could feel the row of crescents where his nails drove into his palms. He stared intently at Roman, searching for any sign of deceit or warning.

"She killed him?" asked Jaune quietly.

"I doubt it. But a lot of his followers think she betrayed him and let the Schnee security section catch him. He's too skilled, too slippery for that. But these idiots are too angry to think beyond the fact that he's not here anymore. Easier to blame the girl than it is to think things through," said Roman. "He's probably off on shady business of his own, and will turn up in his own time."

"Is she in danger?" demanded Jaune.

Roman laughed softly at that.

"Not a whet of concern that she used to hang with the Fang, is there, kid? You just want to be sure she's okay. Never fear, there's only four people who know where she is. Me, you, my informant, and Ozpin."

Jaune stared at Roman in stunned silence as the criminal laughed at his expression.

"Ozpin knows?" he managed to make out, eventually. "You know that Ozpin knows? How does that work?"

"My informant's good," said Roman, wearing his trademark rakish smile. "You haven't met Neo yet, have you? Trust me, you'll understand once you do. She's got skills you wouldn't believe."

"Neo, huh?" muttered Jaune to himself. "We just need a fourth person and we'll have ourselves a full team."

Roman threw back his head in laughter which went on for a full minute, only stopping as he pulled a handkerchief out to wipe tears of amusement from his eyes.

"Oh, I like that idea. An Underworld Hunter team, formed to fight off the evils of law and order."

Jaune caught a glimpse of Roman's expression and groaned.

"You're taking this seriously, aren't you?" he asked in a voice that was part resignation and part whimper.

"As soon as we round up a suitable fourth rogue Hunter, you bet."

"I've already told you I'm not interested in joining your goons in Dust-store robberies and petty crime," complained Jaune.

Roman shook his head vehemently.

"The Dust is a Fang venture. Our secret team will be all about us. Off my employer's radar."

Jaune opened his mouth to complain, but Roman stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth to interrupt him. As Jaune gagged and spluttered on the piece of cloth, Roman continued to explain.

"I don't need wealth, you know that. And I doubt you care too much about it. We'll be working towards influence - an altogether more potent currency. The one used to help your refugee friends, for instance. Look, I'll be frank with you. You already know some of this, but I'm tied down with the Fang's ventures far too much for my liking. I need to re-establish old contacts, build up my network throughout Vale. That means a lot of trading favours."

Jaune spat out the handkerchief at last, and wiped his mouth, glaring at Roman.

"Wasn't that what our meeting with Junior was about?" he asked. Roman shrugged.

"It was the opening negotiations. But he's just one guy, with one gang. We need to expand our reach."

"Sure, I see how that works for you," said Jaune. "But why would I want to go along with this harebrained scheme of yours?"

"I was serious when I said we're partners, Jaune," said Roman, utterly devoid of his usual mocking tones. "Equal share in whatever power and influence I gain. And equal influence in the direction we take with our little team of ne'erdowells."

"Hn," grunted Jaune, unconvinced.

"Oh, fine. I'll sweeten the deal. Our first mission can be to nab you that Nevermore you've been drooling over. How about that?"

Jaune reluctantly accepted Roman's outstretched hand, and clasped it firmly.

"You make a life of crime sound disturbingly appealing," he muttered.

"High crime, Jaune," corrected Roman imperiously. "This isn't muggings and burglaries. This is your route into an elite society hidden under the noses of the dull and dreary worker bees."

"I've already agreed. Don't make me regret it more than I do already," warned Jaune, although he couldn't help himself from smiling. He knew that he'd given in to Roman's mad scheme - and what's more, Roman knew it, too.

"Ah, I knew you'd accept! Good thing, too, otherwise my welcome gift would have gone to waste."

"You only just latched onto this idiot team idea," exclaimed Jaune. "How could you have already have a welcome gift?"

Roman smiled disarmingly, which was a sign of high danger to Jaune, and he backed away.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Oh no," said Roman sweetly. "You're going to love it. Come and have a look. I even wrapped it for you!"

Jaune reluctantly followed Roman out of the giant storeroom which he'd commandeered as on office. As they left, Roman ordered the White Fang lackeys who he'd previously kicked out to get back inside and finish their work, but soon they were on their way, following corridors deeper into the complex until they finally reached the cavern where Jaune had slain the giant Ursa.

"Huh. You've been digging," muttered Jaune.

"The tunnel was always here. Just a bit of rockfall and subterranean monster blocking our way," said Roman. "It's why my employer chose this cozy little spot for us to settle down in. Lots of escape routes, easy cargo transportation once we get the old subway system up and running again, and the occasional hungry Grimm to keep us on our toes."

"I think I understand why you're looking for interests outside this job," muttered Jaune grimly. Roman immediately hushed him, checking to see nobody had overheard with a surprising amount of paranoia.

"Jaune, listen to me like you've never listened before. The White Fang are employees here, just as I am. But any eavesdroppers might carry whispers of disloyalty to curry favour. That wouldn't work out for them. She'd burn them alive out of anger if she took them seriously, and slow-roast them for her own amusement if she thought they were just pissy about taking orders from a human like me. But either way carries the risk over to me, and death by fire is an acquired taste. One I have yet to acquire. Do you follow?" whispered Roman urgently.

"I follow," answered Jaune. "She's that dangerous? That insane?" he continued, matching Roman's hushed voice.

"Just pray you never meet her, and never speak of her where we might be overheard. Or ever, just to be safe."

Jaune followed Torchwick through the tunnels in muted silence, digesting what he'd just been told. He'd always got the impression that his criminal friend was eager to find options outside his peculiar working relationship with the White Fang, but he hadn't imagined that there was a threat like this looming over his head. He frowned, worrying about Roman. For all his dubious morals and manipulative games, Roman was his friend, and he didn't want to see him mixed up with something that would end badly for him. Jaune snorted at the irony of worrying that a career criminal might just now be getting in with a bad crowd, but the brief bout of amusement only distracted him for a moment.

He stepped over a heap of discarded rubble and sighed. This whole scenario was just making him more eager to help out with Roman's proposed side venture - this absurd underground team of pseudo-criminal Hunters. Once they had a fourth member planned, Jaune knew that he was going to be fully behind it. He just hoped that the legally grey aspect of their work would be more palatable than theft and terrorism.

Looking around at the various White Fang members working to clear the rubble and repair heavily damaged train tracks, Jaune couldn't help but hope that it was a promising sign that the thugs and terrorists were the group that Roman wanted to distance himself from. But still, he was wary.

"And here we are!" announced Roman grandly, after several minutes journey along the dilapidated tunnel. "Right around this bend is your present. Oh, but do me a favour? Don't unwrap it. We worked so hard on all the little knots."

Jaune rolled his eyes, striding forwards to see what surprise Roman had dredged up. When he was almost at the corner, he paused.

Panicked shouts and frenzied hissing could be heard echoing down the tunnel. He slowly turned to look at Roman, who smiled, gesturing for Jaune to proceed. Jaune sighed, guessing what he was about to see.

"Did you bring me down here to kill another Grimm too big for your goons to handle?" he grumbled?

"Wait and see," said Torchwick gleefully. Jaune frowned, but stayed quiet until turning the corner - at which point he stopped dead in his tracks to gape at the sight before him.

As suspected, a King Taijitu lay across the tracks, writhing and snapping at anyone who came within reach. But there was something very different about this scene than he'd expected.

Roman's hand came down on his shoulder, and the older man whispered gleefully into his ear.

"I told you we wrapped it for you."

"So you did," murmured Jaune, still in a state of shock.

Thick iron pegs had been driven into the floor and walls of the tunnel, fastening a net in place over the double-headed serpent Grimm. Members of the White Fang were periodically hammering in new pegs whenever the Grimm managed to dislodge one with angry thrusts of its scaly coils.

As Jaune watched, every now and then one of the Faunus would be struck by the Grimm's coils and sent flying, although judging by the way they climbed back to their feet and ran back to work, the net was restricting its movement enough to prevent serious harm. But that wasn't the most insane part of it. Jaune stared for a long time, and eventually fell into a fit of laughter.

"You muzzled it?" he gasped between laughing. "Only you, Roman. Only you."

"Well it was awfully grumpy when we wrapped it up. I was going to finish the wrapping with a neat little ribbon, but we couldn't find any big enough to make a decent bow on top of a Taijitu's head," said Roman mournfully.

"I'll forgive you for not prettying it up for me," Jaune managed to make out at last. "I suppose I'd better go pick it up, then, shouldn't I?"

"Wait," commanded Torchwick. Jaune paused, looking at him quizzically. "Summon your Ursa. Let's double-check your theory."

Jaune called out his Ursa, measuring it with his eyes.

"Definitely looks a lot bigger since I gained the Boarbatusk," he said. "And I did manage to summon a third Beowulf."

"Mhm," agreed Torchwick, albeit in a noncommittal tone. "Perhaps those Beowolves can help you hold it still while you do your thing."

Jaune nodded in agreement, dispelling his Ursa and setting off in a run towards the King Taijitu. He called out his Beowolves, and directed them to sprint ahead. He'd found that giving them instructions had been growing easier as they increased in number, and wondered whether the intelligence of a pack grew as it grew in size, or it was just his own abilities growing. In either case, he no longer needed to give verbal commands.

He set one Beowulf on each of the King Taijitu's heads. The Grimm sprinted on all fours, using their rapidly-built momentum to crash into the larger Grimm, and hold its heads pinned against the wall. Despite the disparity in size, the net confining the Taijitu's movements and the muzzles Torchwick had fitted on it meant that Jaune's Grimm were able to overpower it.

"Hammer those pegs in the wall!" shouted Torchwick from behind him. "Bind the heads in place."

The White Fang soldiers immediately leapt to follow Torchwick's orders.

Hissing in rage and defiance, the King Taijitu lashed out, but failed to strike anyone. With its heads restrained, it was flailing blindly, which made things all the easier for the White Fang.

Jaune ran a keen eye across the length of the two-tone snake, from head to head. Despite the fangs contained within them, the heads were restrained and muzzled, so they were probably the safest place for him to attack. But then again, he had his doubts. He suspected that if he attacked only one side of the serpent Grimm, his Aura would kill the half he was focused on, and leave the other half alive but incomplete - meaning that any attempt to absorb the second half would also merely kill it.

He grimaced, still rushing towards the beast. No, he was certain of it. He had to take out both heads simultaneously, and the only way to do that was to strike at the least restrained part of the Grimm - the thrashing length of coils where white faded into grey diamonds, and then into black. The dead centre of the bipartisan beast.

Jaune set his third Beowulf running by his side until he was almost at the Taijitu, then spurred it into tackling the Taijitu, right in the centre of its body. Jaune leapt after it, stepping on his Beowulf's back for leverage, and then leaping over the King Taijitu's body.

As expected, the serpent thrashed viciously against the Grimm, knocking it to the ground. With all the efforts of the White Fang and his other Beowolves focused on holding the King Taijitu's heads still, the centre of its body had more freedom to move and attack.

Jaune grinned.

It was just as he'd planned. The Grimm was focused on pushing away his Beowulf, and hadn't noticed him vault over its body. Now he was hidden in its blind spot, and waited calmly for the perfect moment to strike.

The scaly body thrust away from him again, and the answering howl of pain told Jaune that it had once more struck his Beowulf. The decoy had worked. Now, the Taijitu drew back its coils slowly, tensing them in preparation for another attack. As soon as they were bunched up, muscles tensed to strike, Jaune was only a foot away.

He drove his sword deep into the Taijitu's body, managing to thrust the blade between two plates of bone in the complicated double-join between the two separate halves of the snake. This complex arrangement of bone and muscle allowed the two heads to move as separate beasts and as one, alternating between two snakes or one longer one, depending on how it chose to attack. It was the very core of what gave the King Taijitu its deadly ability to split or combine its attacks - and Jaune's sword was wedged in the delicate moving parts of it, locking up bones that should have been able to shift against each other with ease.

The Grimm hissed in agony, but the writhing of its body stopped. Jaune's heart raced in the thrill of victory. It was paralysed so long as he held his sword in this position - and that was all he needed to do.

He focused his Aura through Crocea Mors, watching the tell-tale golden-white glow of his Aura cover the Grimm. Instead of spreading evenly in a smooth wave, one diamond-shaped scale at a time flashed golden or white, erasing the shades that they had previously been. Soon the black half of the Grimm was covered in glowing white scales, and the white half in glowing golden scales - and then Jaune's Aura spilled freely down the masks of the twin heads, and it was over.

Jaune pulled his sword back, marvelling once again at the cloud of golden light that filled the tunnel.

The light faded to the sound of Roman's applause. Even the White Fang cheered, though they had no idea what they'd just witnessed. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and Jaune grinned, thrusting his sword in the air in a sign of victory.

"Check the Ursa," insisted Torchwick. Jaune rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked, and summoned his Ursa, simultaneously dispelling his three Beowolves.

"Shit," said Torchwick with a low whistle.

Jaune nodded in silent agreement. It was at least half as big again as it had been before capturing the King Taijitu.

"How did you like your present?" asked Roman.

Jaune just grinned in response, still full of elation from battle - as one-sided as it had been.

"You said something about getting me a Nevermore next?" he asked innocently.

* * *

It was only a few days later that Jaune was back in what had quickly become his favourite and most despised lesson: combat class, supervised by Glynda Goodwitch. He relished the opportunity to see his friends in action and study the wide variety of combat techniques that his classmates used, some so different from his own style that he doubted he'd ever be able to use them. For one thing, he had a complete blind spot when it came to ranged weaponry. His aim was terrible with guns of all sorts, and he'd long since given up on using one. That just made his admiration for the amazing tactical sniping shown by Ruby and Pyrrha all the more intense.

But he also hated the fact that in every lesson he got his ass kicked thoroughly. His first lesson had been against Pyrrha, so he bore no grudge there. In his second week of school, he'd faced Yang. That match had been when he'd begun to resent the situation.

He didn't blame Yang for it. No, not at all. He admired her speed and tenacity in the combat ring. He was just infuriated by the fact that he knew for a fact that he was faster, and it was just this damned heavy shield throwing him off balance that meant he'd lost to her. He'd barely been able to move the shield to block her rapid flurry of blows, and even that was only due to Pyrrha's tutelage.

If he'd just been able to leave his shield in its sheath form, he'd have been fast enough to slip past her guard and take her out. But that dratted Professor Goodwitch insisted he learn to use his weapon properly, and not neglect half of it in favour of his sword. He'd complained about it bitterly to Pyrrha's sympathetic ears for hours - and was doing so again, now.

"If I could just use my sword, I'd be able to fight the way I'm used to!" he exclaimed bitterly. "The weight slows me down, and that's bad enough, but it also takes up my hand. I can't use any two-handed moves with my sword, and so much of my fighting style uses my free hand in combat to set my enemy up for a sword strike."

Pyrrha rested her hand on his forearm, smiling at him from the next seat in the amphitheater.

"Didn't you say that you wanted to learn how to use your shield, though?" she asked, quietly, and without a trace of mockery in her voice.

Jaune sighed.

Where Roman or Blake would have teased his hypocrisy, Pyrrha was just too plain nice for that. He could have carried on his tirade against an unfair world in the face of mocking friends, but he had nothing against the honest truth in Pyrrha's words.

"Yeah, I did," he sighed. "And the training you've done with me has helped so much. I just hate the feeling that I'm holding back."

"Then think of it as Goodwitch holding you back," murmured Blake, from his other side.

Jaune flashed her a grateful smile.

"Oh, I do," he said, daring to grimace at the teacher in question - although only because her back was turned as she prepared the listings of student bouts for this lesson. Each lesson lasted for four hours, taking up an entire afternoon. Most of it was spent watching other students fight. Despite the amount of time allocated to this class, it was rare that everyone got to fight. The entire intake of first year students attended the same lesson, unlike the other classes, so there were three times as many people waiting their turn. Some bouts lasted less than a minute, but it was common for matches to stretch on beyond twenty minutes when the combatants were closely matched in skill.

Goodwitch selected who would fight on a semi-random basis, trying to give everyone the chance to fight every other student. Although Jaune was sure that she was playing the system to set up matches she thought would be interesting - or worse, educational. The worst part was that the educational part was more often directed at the audience than the combatants. Goodwitch almost seemed to use the actual fights as mere props and demonstrations in her lectures, which led to many crushing defeats being followed by an acutely detailed and humiliating description of the loser's failings - directed at the entire year group.

Jaune had borne the brunt of lectures about neglecting his shield in combat and the importance of learning to use weapons before attempting to fight with them. The knowledge that he was a far superior fighter than anyone in class had seen didn't do much to outweigh the utter humiliation of those two scoldings.

"Professor Goodwitch only points out weaknesses to the class so that everyone can learn the same lesson," said Pyrrha mildly, as if reading his mind. Or, more likely, the glower on his face as he stared daggers at Goodwitch's back. "She doesn't intend to make anyone feel bad about their performance. She's just trying to help in her own way."

"Her lack of empathy doesn't make it feel better when she's describing exactly how much and why you suck," grumbled Jaune.

Suddenly, the screens over the combat arena flared into life, flashing through the students faces as Goodwitch selected the first combatants.

Jaune stared at the screens when they finally stopped moving, displaying who was up to fight first.

"Huh," he muttered. "Now I'm especially annoyed at Goodwitch. I've wanted to kick his ass for weeks," he said, staring up at his own face and the oversized sneer of Cardin Winchester.

He glanced at Blake, who was wearing an expression of disgust. She quickly regained her composure, as she always did, but couldn't quite hide the heat in her gaze.

Cardin had a habit of bullying the few Faunus who attended Beacon. It was people like him who made Blake feel like she had to wear that ribbon to hide who she was. Jaune grasped the hilt of his sword tightly. This was a fight he'd known was coming - the only question was whether it was in class or in an empty corridor.

"Don't do anything stupid," muttered Blake under her breath. Jaune caught the unspoken subtext. She was really telling him not to do anything stupid because of her.

"I hate bullies like him," sighed Pyrrha. "Be careful, Jaune."

Jaune gave Pyrrha a tight smile, and flicked Blake on the nose as he stood.

Blake yelped in annoyance, and grabbed his arm, pulling his head down towards her.

"If it bothered me that much, I'd do something about it myself," she hissed. "I solve my own problems. Don't get hurt out of some misguided chivalry."

Jaune flicked her nose again, and she let go of his sleeve, glaring up at him. He couldn't help but smile. Despite her hatred for Cardin, and the way he treated Faunus, she was far too independent to let Jaune fight her battles for her.

"It bothers me that much," said Jaune quietly. "This is a purely selfish act of violence. Got it?"

He was lying. Seeing the way Cardin treated other students bothered Jaune, sure. And Cardin had made enough attempts at hassling Jaune himself that he even bore a slight personal grudge. But even if Blake wouldn't admit how much it upset her, even if she'd never act on it or ask anyone to act on it for her, Jaune knew how she felt whenever she saw Cardin or his lackeys tormenting another Faunus.

And if there's one thing that upset him, it was knowing that Blake was upset - because she would just bottle it up inside and never do a damn thing.

But Jaune would happily do it for her, even if he earned a few bruises in the process.

He sidled past the row of students, and made his way towards the stage.

As he left, he heard Pyrrha whispering to Blake.

"Has Cardin been bothering you, Blake?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"No," said Blake, in a tone so curt it was almost rude. "Not me."

Jaune snorted as he heard that. Not directly, perhaps. But he saw the way she looked whenever Cardin was being his belligerent self. He knew it bothered her, even if she wouldn't admit it.

He was still stuck in thoughts of Blake's unrepentant stubbornness when it came to admitting her own feelings when he reached the arena floor.

"Your Scroll, Mr Arc," demanded Goodwitch.

He handed it over silently. She tapped away at it, synching the monitor of his Aura to the large screen overhead. As she did so, she frowned.

"Have you been doing any unusual training lately, Mr Arc?" she asked, her voice a clipped tone that was a hair's breadth away from disapproval. He looked at her in confusion for a moment. He'd only continued his normal regimen of combat-training with Pyrrha and reading lessons with Blake.

Oh, but then it struck him. The King Taijitu. He'd absorbed it that weekend, so he hadn't had a combat class since. Had it made a tangible difference to the monitor? Something Goodwitch could see? He'd been unable to pick up on anything when checking for differences, so he'd thought that his Aura had remained the same, beyond gaining the ability to produce a Grimm summon.

He shrugged, hesitantly.

"I've been training with Pyrrha to learn how to compensate for the weight of my shield," he said, throwing out a half-truth. Sure, he'd been doing it since the beginning of term, but Goodwitch didn't know that, and he could hardly tell her the truth.

"Hmm," she said, giving him a speculative look. "Your Aura has increased by a third of its previous capacity. I suggest you continue with your training schedule, but take care it does not interfere with your studies."

Jaune raised an eyebrow.

Huh. A third? That was a serious boost. He knew that he had an unusually large amount of Aura to begin with, so that addition was beyond impressive for a spontaneous growth. The extra Aura alone was probably more than half his classmates could produce in total.

But he shrugged. It didn't matter too much, and he said as much aloud.

"Being able to take a few extra hits won't do me much good if I can't land any of my own," he said.

Goodwitch looked at him contemplatively, and then sighed.

"While I commend you for not taking this as an excuse to develop a lax attitude, I must remind you, Mr Arc, that your Aura is not simply a health bar from a video game," she said, lips pressed thinly together. Jaune gave her a started look, wondering just when Goodwitch had played a video game.

She then fell into a lecture that was eerily similar to the topic he'd been discussing only days ago with Roman. Jaune listened with half an ear, his attention drawn more towards the rapidly approaching bulk of his opponent.

"In short, Mr Arc, Aura is raw potential, and Dust Mages use this potential to tap into a range of powers limited only by their will and imagination," finished Goodwitch.

"Ahh, Dust Mages are no fun in a fight," drawled Cardin, finally joining them on stage. "One hit from my mace and they go straight to the floor. Real Hunters fight with weapons." The other boy paused for a moment, sneering down at Jaune in utter contempt. "I knew you're too weak to lift that shield of yours properly, Jauney-boy, but are you seriously thinking you'd do better as a Dust Mage?"

Cardin towered over both Jaune and Goodwitch, twice the size of them both together once his bulky armour was taken into account. His mace alone was bigger and heavier than Goodwitch, and nearly as long as Jaune - which was terrifying, considering that Jaune stood more than six feet high.

"Might I remind you that I'm a Dust Mage, Mr Winchester?" snapped Goodwitch in icy tones.

Cardin just sneered in response.

Jaune was shocked that Goodwitch didn't reprimand him further, but instead she stepped back, tapped on her Scroll to begin the countdown to the match beginning.

"I won't think any less of you if you quit now, Jauney," mocked Cardin. "I couldn't think less of you if I tried, so don't be too ashamed if you need to run away."

Jaune sighed, and prepared his weapons in silence. The lack of response seemed to infuriate Cardin, as a thunderous expression crossed his face.

That's right, thought Jaune. Lose your temper.

The buzzer went off, filling the air with harsh static.

A second later, Cardin's mace smashed into the ground where Jaune had been standing.

Jaune had stepped to one side, carefully watching Cardin's movement, and holding back until the last moment. He darted forward, shield upraised, and crashed into Cardin's torso. His larger opponent stumbled backwards, but looked completely uninjured. His armour had protected him as well as Jaune's shield had done for him. And now Jaune had a sore shoulder from slamming it into a piece of solid metal.

He groaned in frustration, but didn't let his guard down. Cardin was only off-balance for a moment, but that was all it took. Jaune bounced back from his attack, and rushed at Cardin again. The other boy raised his mace horizontally to block what he thought was the same move, but Jaune dropped to his knees and slid under Cardin's guard, smashing his shield into one of his opponent's knees, and slicing the back of his other knee with his sword.

Unfortunately Cardin was no Grimm, so neither blow drew blood. As Jaune attempted to pull back onto his feet, a clumsy swing from Cardin's mace crashed into the side of his head, sending him flying across the arena.

A horrified gasp came from somewhere in the stands. Jaune thought he recognised it as Ruby's voice, and smiled to himself, although he kept himself from moving. Lying on his back, he had a perfect view of the screens overhead. Even that heavy blow to his head had only taken a small notch out of his Aura, whereas Cardin's was halfway to being depleted.

Despite the fact that he hadn't struck anywhere vital - like his head - Jaune guessed that the strike to the unarmoured back of Cardin's knee had done a great deal more damage than he'd expected.

Cardin stomped over, holding his mace overhead in a two-handed grip. Seeing him from this angle, lying exposed on the floor, gave Jaune an entirely new perspective. Perhaps there was a reason Cardin had to cover himself up in so much thick armour. Despite his brute strength, his Aura might be weak.

Jaune grinned, a plan forming.

Pyrrha shrieked from the stands for Jaune to get up, and Goodwitch shouted a warning against Cardin striking a fallen opponent, but Jaune knew that Cardin couldn't resist such a vulnerable target.

It was almost too easy.

As the mace crashed down on Jaune, he rolled out of the way, using the force of his motion to leap upwards, driving the edge of his shield into Cardin's unprotected forearms, in the spot underneath where the armour gave way to the fabric ties holding it together.

Cardin grunted in pain. A heartbeat passed. Jaune steadied his footing, still pressing his shield into Cardin's underarms.

And then Cardin dropped his mace.

Jaune fiercely kicked it away from both of them, and followed up his shield-attack with a thrust from his sword, aimed directly at the centre of Cardin's chest. Which was protected by armour, still, but Jaune didn't want to kill the other boy, no matter how unpleasant he was.

He took advantage of Cardin's distraction to check the Aura meters overhead again, and thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't gone with his first instinct and thrust at Cardin's unprotected neck. A blow to the thickest section of his plate armour had knocked his Aura so far into the red that it was almost invisible. If Jaune had attacked anywhere unprotected, his sword would have torn through flesh.

Fine for a slice to the back of the knee like his earlier attack, but inevitable death if he'd gone for the neck.

Jaune let out a breath of relief. It had only been a snap judgement of caution that had stopped him from going for the killing blow.

And yet Cardin was still standing, weaponless and wobbling.

Jaune flipped Crocea Mors in his hand, and struck Cardin square in the face with the pommel of his sword. There was a satisfying crunch of breaking cartilage, and at last, the towering bully collapsed, blood pooling from his broken nose.

He stood there, breathing heavily, only to hear the amphitheatre erupt in cheers. It seemed like a lot of the student body shared his opinion of Cardin. Jaune smiled wearily. Earning applause seemed to be becoming a habit. He could get used to this. He met Blake's golden eyes, and grinned.

She shook her head in her typical stubbornness, but even from down on the arena floor, Jaune could see the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I see you've taken my instruction to heart," said Goodwitch, stepping forward. "Very effective use of your shield as a weapon - although despite your improvement, I cannot encourage a repeat of this behaviour."

Jaune flinched, expecting to be scolded for knocking Cardin out deliberately. Because he was sure Goodwitch had caught him checking the Aura monitors, and was every bit as aware that he'd broken the bully's nose on purpose as he was.

"No matter how resilient you may be, being struck in the head is inadvisable as a diversionary tactic. Especially when your opponent uses a heavy mace like Mr Winchester. I'm astonished he didn't win this bout with that single blow. Do take more care in future, Mr Arc," she admonished.

Jaune smiled at her guiltily, although with no small amount of relief. He wondered if she'd noticed Cardin's behaviour as well, and was going easy on him out of a shared sentiment that a sound thrashing was well overdue for the armoured lout.

"Er, it wasn't a diversionary tactic," Jaune stammered awkwardly.

"You're telling me that you didn't let Mr Winchester strike you in the head deliberately?" asked Goodwitch imperiously, staring down her glasses at him.

"I - no! That would be an awful idea. His mace is bigger than my head!" exclaimed Jaune. He couldn't help but wonder how much of an idiot Goodwitch thought he was, if she'd assumed he'd planned to let Cardin smash that oversized mace into the side of his head.

"Hmm," said Goodwitch. "Well, I suppose poor situational awareness is slightly less idiotic than intentionally taking a blow like that. And your control and assessment of the battlefield from that moment on is more impressive if you were thinking on your feet - or back, as it were - than intentionally distracting Mr Winchester by taking a deliberate hit."

"You actually thought I'd planned to let him smack me in the head with that thing?" asked Jaune, horrified.

"Your strategy suggested a deliberate feint. But if it wasn't predetermined, I congratulate you on recovering from a bad position with such efficiency," said Goodwitch.

Jaune just shook his head in disbelief. He glanced at Cardin's fallen mace - still bigger than Goodwitch's entire body - and flinched at the thought of deliberately letting that thing near his head. And then he checked the Aura monitor, and saw once again that he'd only lost a chip out of the green bar representing his Aura.

That just didn't match up to the blow he'd took. Jaune climbed back up to his seat in a state of disbelief.

As soon as he sat down, Blake rapped him firmly on the side of his head.

"I knew this thing was thick after trying to tutor you, but you've got to be kidding me," she murmured.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Since so many people have been asking about pairings, I feel like I should say something on the subject. Sometimes friendships grow into relationships. Sometimes relationships turn into friendships. Sometimes friendships turn sexual, and sometimes sex is the initial connection which later paves the way for friendship. All relationships, romantic or otherwise, are going to change and develop throughout the story. I will admit this, though: since there's been such a huge response to the scenes with Jaune and Blake, I confess that their interactions will be a major focus of the story. Thanks again to everyone who has left a review so far. I always look forward to hearing from readers, and the growing response to this story just motivates me more and more to continue devoting time to it._

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The sound was deafening, but all of Jaune's focus was on his opponent. The hollering crowd was somewhere distant, out of reach. On some level he could hear the cheering and taunts, and above all, Junior's two dancers shouting odds, trading coins for betting chits.

This was where they had begun their career. The Malachite girls had begun working for the club as dancers, but earned their highly-ranked positions in Junior's gang by fighting here. In The Pit.

A rough wooden palisade formed a ring around The Pit, an arena dug into the basement of Junior's club. A gate at each end led to a set of stone stairs, made from the same hard grey stone that was beneath Jaune's feet. It was loosely covered in straw, but obviously hadn't been replaced in a long time. It was almost all stone, with only a few stray pieces of yellow scattered across the ring.

Behind the palisade was a circular wall of concrete. Jaune suspected that the wooden wall only existed to minimize deaths when fighters were slammed into the wall headfirst. Most of the bouts fought here weren't to the death, but accidents happened in the feverish thrill of combat.

Junior's gang fought here for entertainment, recognition, and occasionally rank. But anyone could fight for money and infamy among the certain select crowd who gathered to watch these fights. Most of the audience were either from Junior's Club or other gangs. Some were civilians in it for the thrill. And then there were the gamblers.

They were why Jaune was here. An unblooded newcomer against a seasoned veteran of The Pit had very good odds - if the newcomer had Jaune's skill, and a loan from Roman Torchwick to pay his entry fee and bet on the outcome.

The veteran's name was Dunelm. Judging by the crowd, he was a favourite fighter. Jaune hadn't seen him before among Junior's men, but that suggested he was important enough to avoid menial duties like the security detail. In the same outfit as all of Junior's men, only the thick brown dreadlocks tied in a knot on the back of his head separated him from the ubiquitous goons.

Dunelm stood opposite Jaune, brandishing the gang's trademark red cleaver. Jaune ran his eyes across the weapon, ignoring his opponent in favour of studying his weapon of choice. Thick notches had been cut out of the cleaver, giving it a rough and clumsy appearance. Rumour had it that each notch was a kill in The Pit, where combatants normally only fought to submission or unconsciousness.

But Jaune knew the rumours were false the moment he laid eyes on Dunelm's weapon. The notches were too wide, too far apart, and too symmetrical. They were almost like the teeth of an oversized comb in appearance, but designed to catch blades, not hair.

Jaune's opponent had customised his weapon into a rudimentary sword breaker, meant to disrupt a sword-strike and expose the wielder's foe for a follow-up attack. On his left hand, Dunelm wore a gauntlet adorned with thick steel spikes that jutted out from each knuckle. The rusty brown colour staining the black leather at the base of the spikes gave Jaune utter certainty that these spikes were Dunelm's real weapon.

He almost smiled at the irony. This man was using a sword as a shield and his fist as a sword. It was an unexpected and deadly combination.

One of the Malachite girls - Jaune didn't know which of them was which - raised a square of black cloth into the air.

The crowd silenced, and she let it fall.

Jaune breathed in.

The cloth landed. The fight began.

Dunelm rushed at Jaune, opening with a fierce diagonal swipe from the back of his sword-breaker. Jaune side-stepped the blow, and only just noticed now that it was close enough to touch that the back of the weapon had been sharpened to a razor's edge. His eyes widened, and his heart thumped faster as adrenaline spiked through his body.

The back of a cleaver was a cumbersome weapon, but it was just one more misdirection in Dunelm's arsenal.

Jaune didn't hesitate. The quickest way out of this fight was to use his opponent's own strength against him.

He was still too close, so he slammed his left palm into Dunelm's chest, sending the other man skittering back a few feet. He looked winded by the blow, but not injured. That suited Jaune fine. He waited a moment for Dunelm to catch his breath, and then rushed at him like a rank amateur, thrusting his sword at a gap in his enemy's defences.

Of course, it wasn't a gap. Against any normal sword, Jaune's attack would have slide against the other blade and pierced his enemy's chest, but Dunelm's sword-breaker caught Crocea Mors between its teeth.

Jaune could have pulled it loose, but maneuvering his sword at that angle would have brought him within striking distance of Dunelm's spiked gauntlet. He could see Dunelm's fist tightening in preparation for the blow, a grim smile blooming under the red shades he was wearing.

It was clear from Dunelm's expression; he expected an easy victory in the manner of so many other identical fights against thugs with no understanding of how to control the battlefield. Jaune hid his grin, and let Dunelm relish his false victory.

He let go of Crocea Mors.

Dunelm only had a moment to widen his eyes in surprise as Jaune sprang forward, past the sword-breaker which was now too cumbersome to use in defense. He had trapped his own weapon in a stalemate as solidly as he'd trapped Jaune's sword. Jaune twisted his body as he passed the weapons, striking Dunelm in the chin with his shoulder. He followed through with a quick jab to the other man's stomach, and grabbed hold of his left arm - his dangerous arm - while he was stunned.

This was an ugly move, but The Pit was an ugly place.

Jaune drove his knee upwards into a spot behind Dunelm's elbow, pushing down with all his strength on either side of the arm in a single motion. Timing was everything here, and Jaune timed it perfectly. Just as Dunelm's arm was bent unnaturally far out of place, Jaune's knee struck, pushing the arm into a position it wasn't able to reach.

The crack of bone breaking was an odd sound, somehow wetter than Jaune had expected. Dunelm paled, shaking, but didn't make a single noise of pain. Despite himself, Jaune was impressed at his opponent's stoicism. But that didn't stop him from twisting the broken arm.

Dunelm dropped his sword-breaker, and Crocea Mors fell to the ground with it. The clatter of steel against stone was as good as speaking the words aloud - though Jaune got the impression that Dunelm was not the type to admit defeat, even when forced to accept it.

They stood there, on the cracked flagstones of The Pit, staring at each other. Dunelm's breathing was laboured, but he still refused to make a sound of pain.

At last, he reached down to lift Crocea Mors by the blade and hold it out, hilt-first, for Jaune to take.

Jaune took hold of his sword, and for a second, Dunelm held onto it, looking intently at Jaune with an unreadable expression. And then he nodded, the barest gesture of recognition, and let go of the sword.

As soon as their eye contact was broken, the world flooded back in, and the roar of the crowd struck Jaune like a wave. He grinned uneasily, and slipped out of The Pit, doing his best to disappear into the crowd.

Looking back, he saw that Dunelm remained in the ring for almost half a minute longer. The crowd was still cheering. Jaune studied the expressions of the other members of Junior's gang who filled a fair portion of the crowd, fascinated by their response. Even in defeat, they were cheering on their brother-in-arms.

There were a few more fights scheduled for this night, so Jaune settled down to watch them before collecting his winnings. They were all unimpressive thugs, focusing on force over finesse, and utterly lacking the sly tricks that Dunelm had possessed - even though Jaune had deprived him of the opportunity to show them off.

Jaune had retired to Junior's private rooms. The Malachite girls bobbed in and out, leaving two piles of Lien. One was the house winnings. Junior's cut. Dwarfed in comparison next to it was Jaune's prize - but still a substantial amount of money. He looked away from the stack of money, knowing that his winnings were safer in Junior's rooms than in most locked safes.

"You both won tonight," explained Junior as soon as the girls had left. "Dunelm's one of my best men. Clever and tough. Everyone saw you take him down, so they'll respect that. But think back to the way that fight ended. Sure, you won. But did he look defeated to you?"

"I twisted his broken arm and he didn't even gasp," said Jaune by way of reply, still muddling through his thoughts. "He lost the fight, but…" he trailed off, and then stared into the distance. "He didn't fall. He didn't cry out. He didn't ask to stop the fight."

Junior nodded emphatically. He pulled his stack of Lien onto the coffee table and began sorting the notes into separate piles by denomination. Without looking up from his task, he continued speaking.

"He's one tough son of a bitch. Showing that to the boys earned him respect. But there's something more. You're close to it," he said, prompting Jaune to keep thinking.

"Dunelm dropped the weapons to say it was over. He chose when to end it, not me," said Jaune. He paused for a moment, pensive. "And then he handed my sword back to me afterwards." He looked at Junior, brows furrowed as realisation dawned, and swore quietly.

Junior chuckled, continuing to stack Lien on the table, and listened to Jaune speak.

"Even when beaten, he was in full control of the situation. Not like those meatheads pounded into the ground until they begged to yield or couldn't move," muttered Jaune, thinking aloud. "I won the fight completely, but it ended on his terms. He was in control of the situation, not me."

"I knew you'd spot it," said Junior smugly, handing Jaune a drink as if to reward his insight. "Now, most of those apes don't have a clue what they saw. But control is power. They saw you come out of that ring victorious, and Dunelm undefeated." The house winnings were all arranged into the appropriate stacks, so Junior leaned back and relaxed, giving his attention to Jaune once more. "He's got style, I'll tell you that. Even if the men don't understand what they're seeing, they feel it. Hah! You kicked his ass like he was a toddler with a stick, but with his actions he reminded the crowd that he was a winner. Even giving you back your sword - it was like he was handing you permission to have won."

Pouring himself a glass of the same pale yellow liquid, Junior sipped it slowly. Jaune had no idea what it was, and guessed it was another of Junior's cocktails. He stared into his glass, mulling over Junior's words.

"I don't suppose many of your henchmen know what a metaphor is?" he asked.

Junior snorted derisively, before laughing aloud.

"You bet that Dunelm does," he said, still chortling. "Doubt many of the others will. But it's no matter. They saw your strength in the battle, and Dunelm didn't lose face for losing. Good thing, too. He's got a lot of pride."

"Yeah," muttered Jaune. "All the mind games gave it away."

Junior shoved Jaune easily with a huge, hairy arm.

"Don't be sour about it. Learn. Posturing like that is how you win over your followers when your strength isn't enough. You're a team leader. You'll need to know how to lose a fight without being beaten."

"I'm a trainee Hunter, not running a gang," said Jaune ruefully. Junior leaned back on his red leather sofa and shook his head vehemently.

"It's all the same. Your team will look to you for guidance when things are tough. You have to win every battle in their minds. Make every retreat a victory. Every loss an opportunity. No matter how badly life chews you up, make them believe in you."

Jaune took a gulp of his drink, barely tasting it, and gave Junior a rough smile.

"Sometimes defeated, but never beaten. Is that it?"

"Just remember Dunelm, kid. Give the fight to your enemy when you have to, but never let them take it from you."

Jaune saw the truth in Junior's words, but couldn't resist arguing for argument's sake.

"I damn well took that fight from Dunelm," he said, taking another swallow of his drink.

"If he'd kept fighting until you knocked him to the ground, sure, you would have," retorted Junior. "But listen to what I've been saying all along: he chose to end it when he knew you would beat him. No matter what you're fighting, always make sure that you choose how things end, no matter how badly that might be. Sometimes it's the last choice a man ever has," he finished, in a quieter voice.

"Do you think you could make that last choice?" asked Jaune, tensing up inside. He could feel the ghosts of long-buried memories unfurling in his mind, causing his fists to clench and teeth to grind together in a frustrated attempt at staving them off.

"Damn straight," said Junior. "This is a rough business. And sure, I'm mostly a businessman. I work in entertainment. Mostly. But I know that nobody runs a gang like mine and gets to retire peacefully."

Junior stood, and began to pace about the room. The heavy padding on the wall must mute sound going out as well as going in, Jaune realised. Another perk of conducting shady business in the back rooms of a night club.

"I don't know how it'll happen," began Junior, eventually stopping his pacing and standing behind his sofa, resting his heavy fists on it as he leaned forwards to talk. "Maybe another crew will try to take our territory. Maybe one of my boys will decide he deserves an early promotion. I could hide in a distant townhouse with a full security detail, leave someone else managing things day to day and just collect my cut. A lot of guys in my position do. They're weak!" he shouted suddenly, banging his fist on the wooden back of the sofa.

Jaune jumped at the unexpected shout. He'd been paying attention before, but now Junior was speaking as much to himself as to Jaune, which he found absolutely riveting. He leaned forward, listening carefully to the clues he could pick up about what motivated his new acquaintance.

"I tend my own bar," said Junior, in a more moderate voice. "I show the rookies how to swing a sword and throw a punch. When a big scrap's happening with another crew, I'm right there fighting beside my men. One day the other guy's going to get a lucky shot, but I'm not backing down from living my life because of that chance. That's my choice. Stand in the open until the end."

Jaune studied Junior, who looked as riled up and passionate as he'd ever seen him. It was odd, he thought. That attitude fit perfectly with what he'd seen of Junior so far - the gang boss who was still part of the crew. But Jaune couldn't imagine just opening his mouth and speaking so honestly about a subject so intense as choosing how to face your death. No matter how many times he'd stared death in the face himself, he'd never given much thought to choosing how to accept it without simply giving in.

The idea stumped him. He'd only ever focused on survival. That was his only choice. Perhaps, he wondered, choosing to do everything in his power, no matter how risky or outlandish to survive, was his choice of how to face death. Never surrendering. And yet that was so unlike Dunelm's easy command of the crowd's respect after he had yielded.

Jaune sighed. A spar with another person was very different to battling Grimm. Learning grace and defiance in defeat was nothing like deciding how to approach your final battle, despite the parallels that Junior had used to drive the conversation in this direction.

"I doubt Roman would share your gung-ho machismo," replied Jaune after some time had passed. Unable to process his own thoughts on the matter, he found his mind drifting towards his friends. Roman was definitely the type to use misdirection - like Dunelm, and yet unlike him. Instead of acting out a charade of victory, Roman would embrace an early defeat and escape before he could be harmed.

Pyrrha would definitely fight until the end. Her competitive streak wouldn't allow anything else. If she found an opponent that could best her, she would never be happy unless she had tested herself to the limits against them. Blake would be more like Roman, although Jaune imagined that she was more likely to escape and counterattack than simply flee. Ren would accept an inevitable loss with no regrets, only acceptance of what must sometimes happen - but Jaune had no idea where Ren would draw the line and accept a situation as inevitable, as opposed to simply difficult to overcome.

As far as Nora went, Jaune couldn't begin to guess how she would react. There was something beneath her bubbly exterior that he had only caught brief glimpses of, but there were moments of sincerity and stability underneath her chaotic demeanour. He had the feeling that he knew even less about her than he did about Ren. Ren told more with silence than Nora did when she spoke.

Jaune realised that Junior hadn't replied to his comment, and found the other man scrutinising him intensely.

"You're taking this way too personally," he said, watching Jaune carefully. "I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but you've got an obsessive look on your face."

Jaune bit the inside of his cheek. His fingers felt icy cold, as if he'd spent a night in the rain, and he could feel his tongue inside his mouth as if it had suddenly grown into his awareness.

"I was wondering how my team would choose to face their last fight," he admitted.

"That's morbid," said Junior, opening another bottle and offering to refill Jaune's glass.

"You brought it up," answered Jaune. "And no thanks. I'm missing half a night's sleep by being here. I don't want to add a hangover on top of that."

Junior gave him an incredulous look.

"Kid, we've been drinking pineapple juice this whole time," he said, exasperated in the way that only a bartender faced with a teenager can be.

"I've never had pineapple before," mused Jaune.

"Even so!" exclaimed Junior, putting the cap back on the crystalline decanter and setting it on the table. "You know what, forget it. I'll pretend you didn't say anything, you ignorant brat."

Jaune managed a ghost of a smile. Junior reached out in an attempt to cuff him, but Jaune dodged out of the way. He felt some of the melancholy that had been pooling in his gut fade away, though it didn't leave him entirely.

He made idle conversation with Junior for a little longer, and then finally collected his winnings from the fight earlier which had brought on this peculiar conversation. Jaune wasn't sure whether he was the victim of Junior attempting to impart a lesson or his own morbid thoughts, but he left the club in an odd mood, feeling halfway to being a ghost himself.

By the time he was back at Beacon, it was almost two in the morning.

Jaune trudged up the long walkway to the school, lost in his thoughts. It wasn't until he reached the large statue outside the main doors that he noticed Blake sitting on the stone lip at its base.

Her eyes were fixed on him, despite the poor light. With her ability to see in the dark, Jaune suspected she'd been watching him from the moment he stepped foot onto Beacon's grounds.

"You're up late," he said weakly, dropping down to sit beside her.

"You know I don't like to sleep much at night," replied Blake. She was wearing her typical black and white outfit, and shivered as a gust of wind cut through the clothes. Despite being made of a number of layers, they were all thin, and only covered so much of her body.

Jaune put an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned in close to the heat of his body.

"Sweat. Mostly not yours. And you're too warm. Have you been fighting?" she asked quietly.

"I needed the money. Putting a bet on myself seemed like a good idea," said Jaune, and then sighed to himself. It had been a rough night, and not because of the fight.

"Does it still?" asked Blake. She pulled her legs up off the stone, curling them around one of Jaune's. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin from the cold.

"The fight was fine. I won. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

Jaune explained a shortened version of what Junior had told him about Dunelm's play for control of the crowd, and repeated some of the conversation that had followed.

"Making defeat work for you," Blake mused. "It's clever. He's right about your team. Show them a broken spirit and they're just three Hunters, but motivate and inspire them, and you can accomplish something bigger than any of you could alone."

"That's true," said Jaune slowly. "I suppose I got too caught up in the idea of choosing how to win your final defeat."

"Dying," said Blake flatly. But it wasn't her answer for how to win; he knew that she was just asking if that was what he meant. Jaune knew Blake had secrets, but he knew that she'd never see simply dying as a victory. He got the feeling that she would gladly die for a worthy cause. She was fiercely passionate underneath the silent face she showed the world. He even suspected that she might have a cause, but had no clue what it might be. Or perhaps she was more like him; lost, and searching for a cause worth fighting for. He dearly wanted to ask, but there were no words that would form the questions he didn't know how to ask.

"Yeah," said Jaune eventually.

"It's the last action you have to shape the world," murmured Blake. "Do you leave it better by making the right choices, or do your choices leave the world worse when you're gone? Or do you simply leave, making no difference to anyone but yourself."

Jaune sat with her in silence. She sounded like she was just thinking aloud, so he felt no obligation to reply.

A few minutes passed, and she shivered again, despite Jaune's arm around her. The movement startled Jaune into speaking the thoughts he'd been dwelling on since leaving Junior's club.

"I couldn't help but imagine how you, my team, all my friends would choose to face their end when it came," he said, almost against his will. "I feel like I'm right about all of you - but I don't know what I would do if it came to me. I can't imagine it."

Blake uncoiled from Jaune's lap, and knelt on the stone where they'd been sitting, looking down at him fiercely.

"That makes sense," she said.

"It's like I've suddenly become a coward, too scared to even imagine dying," Jaune ground out bitterly.

Blake leaned forward, so close that her breath misted onto his face. Her amber eyes were unblinking; her expression almost angry.

"No. I've never seen you hesitate in a fight," she said vehemently.

"You've never seen me fight for real," said Jaune. "Only sparring."

"You wouldn't hesitate in a real fight. It's all the same thing. You don't stop. You act on skill and luck and don't stop moving until it's over."

"Real combat is nothing like sparring in class, Blake," said Jaune, wrapped up in his own morose thoughts.

She hissed in disapproval, making him look up in astonishment.

"I know what real fights are like," she whispered furiously. "And I know you. You can't imagine how you'd die because you don't even believe it's an option. You know you're not a coward. What's gotten into you?" she demanded.

Jaune had never seen Blake angry like this. Compared to her ordinary demeanour, it was both intimidating and exhilarating. She looked vibrantly alive, almost as if she was ready to fight him. He couldn't help but notice that she wasn't shivering anymore.

For a moment he didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. And then he stood up to breathe, turning to face Blake properly, and saw the uncanny likeness on the statue - the Hunter who looked almost identical to Jaune. And his father. And then the rush of memories which had been coursing under the surface of his mind spilled forth, and he felt that day as if it was happening all over again.

"I'm sorry," he said at long last. "I know why this has bothered me so much." He shook involuntarily, just once, and tasted copper in his mouth. "I don't think about it, so I didn't even realise that it was the same thing. Not until just now."

Blake watched him patiently, waiting for Jaune to continue.

Jaune wondered how long she'd wait, but swallowed the impulse to bury those memories again. She wouldn't be the first person he'd told, but she'd be the first who mattered in a long time.

"My parents chose how they died," he said, speaking in slow, abrupt sentences. "The Grimm swarmed the village. Two of my sisters died outside. Before we knew what was happening. There were too many. We were barricaded inside the house, but it wouldn't hold. We knew we were going to die."

"Jaune," said Blake, quietly. He shook his head. If she began speaking, he didn't know if he could make himself tell her the rest. He had to say it all at once, or not at all.

"But then my mother unlocked my Aura. I took up my family sword. They drew all the attention to themselves so that I could escape. They chose to give everything so I had a chance."

Jaune sat down heavily. Blake eyed him uncertainly, as if she feared he would snap if she said anything.

"You said that you've been in the wilds for seven years," she said, a question implicit in her statement.

"That's right," said Jaune grimly. "That's when it happened."

"I don't know how, but you did it," said Blake softly. "You survived."

They sat in silence for a long time, until at last Jaune turned to Blake, feeling guilty for unloading all his bad memories on her when she'd only shown concern for a friend. He had no desire to earn pity, or make her feel bad for thoughts of his past.

"I shouldn't have told you all of that," he muttered. "Please, just put it out of your mind."

"No," said Blake.

Jaune opened his mouth to protest, only to be interrupted as she threw herself at him in a rough hug, banging his head against the statue, and squeezing him tightly around the waist with her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"Don't think about the past if it makes you unhappy," she said, her voice muffled by his clothes. "Let me remember it for you. This is who you are. I don't want to forget one piece of you."

Without knowing what to say, Jaune wrapped his arms around Blake in silent, willing agreement.

They made sure to return to their dorms before the sun began to rise. Blake slipped into her room without making a sound save for her murmured farewell.

Jaune wasn't quite as stealthy as her. He didn't think anyone heard him come in, but it was only twenty minutes later when the watery light of pre-dawn began to illuminate the room. Facing him, her vibrant green eyes open and fixed on his face, Pyrrha was awake.

"Jaune?" she asked in a whisper after noticing that he could see she was watching him.

"Sorry," he replied. "Did I wake you?"

Pyrrha shook her head, the movement causing her hair to cascade haphazardly over her face and blankets. She brushed it out of the way with her hand, still staring at Jaune.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, carefully pitching her voice so as not to wake the other two in the room. "Where were you?"

Jaune hesitated.

There was an odd expression on Pyrrha's face that he couldn't make out in the poor light and odd angle. She looked almost hurt, but that didn't make any sense.

"I was visiting a friend. He lives in Vale," he said, trying not to give away too much information. He'd already said far too much to Blake for one night. At least he'd just told her about the subject of his conversation with Junior, not who Junior was - or how they knew one another.

"He?" said Pyrrha, a note of relief in her voice. Jaune frowned, and quickly hid the expression in case Pyrrha thought he was frowning at her.

"I do have friends who are guys, you know," he tried to joke, while ignoring the implications of Pyrrha's tone which his brain was rapidly throwing at him. He tried to dismiss it as a delusion brought on by the adrenaline of fighting, drinking too much pineapple juice, and being emotionally overwrought all in one night. Being less than two feet away from a beautiful woman who wore a silk negligee to sleep in had made Jaune prone to all sorts of delusions. He'd taken up the habit of ignoring them as best he could. The last thing he wanted to do was to tear apart his team by misinterpreting Pyrrha's concern for - well, for something he wasn't letting himself think about.

"Ren might get jealous. We all thought he was your only one," she said softly, teasingly.

Jaune smiled at her, and felt his unease drift away at the sight of her answering smile. But then her smile wavered, and she bit her lip.

"Try to get some sleep, Pyrrha," said Jaune gently, not liking the look of worry on her face, or what it could mean. "We have a big day tomorrow, remember? Team JNPR picnic," he said, smiling.

Pyrrha rolled over slightly until she was almost on the edge of her bed. If Jaune reached out his arm he'd be able to touch her. He felt his pulse quicken, and then quicker some more as he saw how her blankets had fallen open, just a little. He felt awkward, unsure of where to put his eyes.

If he looked down, he'd be ogling her. But after that brief glimpse, he felt uncomfortable meeting her eyes, while she stared unfailingly at him.

Blake had a habit of staring at him for long periods without blinking as well, but that felt completely different. Jaune settling for looking at the bridge of Pyrrha's nose, and hoping that she wouldn't notice.

These two girls were the closest friends he had at Beacon. He'd found a closer friendship with Blake than he'd ever had with anyone before. But he was still close to Pyrrha. They spent a huge amount of time together, in and out of class. He just couldn't understand why he felt so on edge when Pyrrha looked at him like that, and completely comfortable when Blake did it.

A soft hand against his cheek snapped Jaune out of his racing thoughts. He froze up completely, Pyrrha touching him gently, yet somehow holding him in place with that touch. A stray, mad thought popped into his head: despite spending hours every day handling weapons, Pyrrha's Aura prevented her skin from being damaged. That was why her hands were so silky-soft against his skin, devoid of calluses or scars.

"Where do you go at night, Jaune?" Pyrrha asked sadly.

Jaune found that his tongue had turned to lead in his mouth, and he was unable to answer.

He didn't know how long they lay there, Pyrrha's hand resting gently on his cheek. Eventually she pulled her hand away, stroking down the side of his face before tucking her arm back under her blankets. Her expression was utterly forlorn.

Jaune couldn't bear to see it, but felt too guilty to turn over. He closed his eyes, and tried not to feel her gaze on him.

He didn't know which of them fell asleep first. He felt her eyes on him until he finally lost consciousness, but didn't dare open them at any point to see if he was imagining it.

An awkward morning was avoided by busy hours preparing snacks, and not long before noon, Team JNPR were out in the sunshine.

"We're going on a picnic!" sang Nora heartily, swinging a heavy wicker basket to-and-fro as she skipped along the walkway outside Beacon's main entrance. She was skipping ahead of the rest of the group, beaming innocently. For some reason all the other students were giving her a wide berth, almost seeming to move out of her way.

Jaune couldn't fault them for exercising a little healthy caution whenever Nora got excited, but was still surprised to see the effect so strongly affecting students he'd never even met, from their year and others.

"Was letting Nora carry the food a good idea?" whispered Pyrrha, sounding slightly worried. She was walking beside Ren, several paces behind Nora. Jaune followed a little way behind.

Glancing down at the basket in his own hands, he grinned. Ren didn't speak much, but on the rare occasion when he volunteered an idea, it was usually brilliant.

"Her basket is full of rocks," said Ren quietly. Nora couldn't hear him over the sound of her sing-song chanting about the picnic.

"It's as if you've been married for sixty years," marvelled Jaune at Ren's constant ability to thwart Nora's exuberance. "Or her tamer at the zoo for a long and fulfilling career.

Ren sighed.

"How often must we say that we're not together? Surely you and Blake know how tiresome it gets," complained Ren.

"I didn't mean it like that," said Jaune guiltily. "You're right. Sorry." The rumours about him and Blake were far more persistent than the unspoken assumption that Ren and Nora were a couple. Ren was right; the misunderstandings got old, fast. He hated the implication that he couldn't be good friends with her just because she was a girl.

Pyrrha looked back at the two of them, an undecipherable expression on her face. She looked as if she was about to say something, but was interrupted by Nora bounding back into the centre of the group.

"Is "we're not together" going to be our team motto now?" she asked. "Because that's a horrible motto!"

"It does suggest an unfortunate lack of team spirit," observed Pyrrha, who was immediately pounced upon by Nora.

"Exactly!" she cried. "I suppose it could be our battle cry? We're not together!" she exclaimed, and then paused, looking thoughtful. "It needs work," she stated. "I'll work on it."

Jaune hefted the picnic basket onto his hip to rebalance the weight, wondering just what on Remnant Ren had packed in there.

"Do we really need a battle cry?" he asked. Nora turned her huge round eyes on him in shock, looking utterly betrayed.

"But then how will the Grimm know we want to fight them?" she asked.

"You can hit them with your hammer," muttered Ren sarcastically. The sarcasm went right over Nora's head, and she brightened instantly.

"Yes! My hammer can be our battle cry!"

Ren very pointedly said absolutely nothing whatsoever, stepping over the raised stones which marked the edge of the path, and onto the grassy verge of Beacon's expansive grounds. It was almost like a private park, full of meandering stone paths, statues of famous heroes, and with a thorough dusting of benches.

At the moment the grounds were fairly empty. Most students were either studying inside or had escaped the confines of Beacon to relax in Vale.

To Jaune, it felt almost as if they had the school to themselves. Just him and his team. He had wanted to invite Blake as well. She felt almost like a second partner to him, given their close friendship and the hours upon hours of tutoring and studying they spent together each week. In the end he'd decided that he needed to spend more time with his own teammates, and less with Blake and his night-time friends in Vale.

He couldn't deny that a reluctance to face Blake after everything he'd said last night had played a part in that decision, but most of all it had been Pyrrha's reaction that had struck him with guilt.

Jaune wondered if he was neglecting his team, and couldn't find an answer. He trudged across the grounds, following the others. Even if he was doing his job as the team leader, he decided, he'd been neglecting them as friends. And that was something he needed to correct.

"Aw, Jaune, you look so sad," remarked Nora, taking him out of his reverie. While he'd been brooding, they'd reached a pleasant clump of trees near one of the many small streams which ran through the outer grounds. "We've got the best spot for a picnic ever, so eat up and be happy!" she instructed, digging into her basket and thrusting a sticky bun in his face.

Jaune smiled at her, and had taken the bun by the time he realised what was going on.

He slowly upended his picnic basket and poured out a steady stream of small rocks. The rattle and thud of pebbles and stones hitting the ground seemed to go on for a full minute. Jaune slowly turned to Ren, who winced until the final rock landed and the stream finally came to an end.

"Those cakes are really overcooked," said Nora brightly. "Don't worry, I've got plenty for everyone!"

Jaune smiled despite himself, dropping the picnic basket on the top of the heap of rocks, and sitting beside it.

"Thank you, Nora," he said glibly. "It's lucky you had another basket, or Ren's cooking would have broken all my teeth. This batch of cakes are as hard as rocks."

"Ren can make lovely rock cakes," said Nora conversationally. "He's a wonderful cook. Even if he sometimes has little accidents," she added, pointing at the pile of rocks. Ren winced visibly again. "Why don't you and Pyrrha set the picnic out on the blankets while Jaune helps me find some ducks to feed?" she continued.

"Ducks?" asked Jaune, bewildered.

"They might like the cakes that are too hard for us. If we find the duck pond we can just throw them in and feed the ducks! Wasting them on the grass is no good," declared Nora, spinning around to grab Jaune by the hand and pull him towards the stream.

"Nora, I don't think the ducks will like those cakes," warned Ren in a strained voice.

Nora either didn't hear him or merrily ignored him, humming a tune while dragging Jaune along the path of the stream.

Deciding that the best option was probably to distract Nora for long enough that Ren and Pyrrha could hide the rocks, Jaune went along with the mad girl, praying that his suggestion of a team picnic wouldn't lead to a massacre of innocent water birds, stoned to death by a humanoid avatar of chaos.

Five minutes of searching upstream, they finally found the duck pond. Pillars of threaded white stone joined together into a series of arches circling it, with a number of benches inside. Like most of the school grounds, there was nobody else here. In fact, they were completely out of sight of even the spot where they'd left Ren and Pyrrha.

"So we found the duck pond," said Jaune. "Maybe we should give them some of the softer cakes instead of keeping the nice ones to ourselves," he suggested. "We shouldn't be selfish."

"That's right," said Nora abruptly. "We shouldn't be selfish. That's why I switched the baskets. You had to carry around a bag of rocks because you've been too selfish."

She slammed Jaune's back into one of the pillars, pressing herself close against him. For one delirious moment Jaune thought that she was going to kiss him, and then he saw the anger tightening her eyes and darkening her cheeks.

"You do a good job at making sure we get to class and keep up with our studies," Nora began. "But being the team leader means looking out for your team outside class as well. When somebody's upset, it's your job to fix it." She jammed a thumb in his chest, prodding him so hard that it hurt.

"You sneak out nearly every other night. None of us know where. Pyrrha was convinced you were hooking up with Blake, and that was bad enough, but I'm not blinded by gossip," she said. "If you were just sneaking out to get together with Blake, I wouldn't like it, but it'd work out in time. But you're not, are you?"

Jaune stared at Nora, taken aback by the sudden reversal of her normal carefree, chaotic attitude.

"No, I'm not sneaking out with Blake. We're friends. We study together. That's all!" exclaimed Jaune, still reeling from the unexpected ambush.

"Yeah, I said that," retorted Nora. "So where are you going so often, so late? What's so important that you skip half your sleep and keep secrets from your team?"

"I don't need much sleep," said Jaune quietly, knowing it wasn't a real answer. "I got too used to sleeping lightly when I lived in the wilds. I can't break the habit."

"Maybe you don't need much sleep, but Pyrrha does," insisted Nora. "Do you think last night was the only time she's stayed up waiting for you to come back to the dorm?"

Jaune was lost for words. Unfortunately for him, Nora was not, and she continued to harangue him.

"I tried to get her to stop at first. She was fixated over the idea of you and Blake. Jealousy's a lousy feeling. Nothing good ever comes from it."

"What do you mean, she was fixated?" asked Jaune, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Oh, come on," shouted Nora, still right in his face. "You know she likes you. You're pretending that you don't, but you know."

Jaune felt the world slowly crumble around him. He knew he had a lot of failings as a team leader, but this was the one thing he'd been sure he was doing right.

"I-I thought I was just seeing what I wanted. Every guy thinks that every girl is into him. And Pyrrha's so nice," he managed to stammer out. "I didn't want to assume that she liked me just because she was nice to me. If I tried anything and it upset her, it would have made her hate being on our team. We're going to be sharing a dorm for years, fighting together for years!" he exclaimed. "I didn't want to ruin that because I imagined that a beautiful girl might be interested in me."

Nora snorted.

"Right. Imagined," she said disdainfully.

"Damn it, Nora," cried Jaune. "I just didn't want to make any assumptions and ruin everything for our team. When you pushed me against this pillar I thought you were about to kiss me! If I acted on every perceived maybe, I'd be an asshole at best!"

Nora stared at Jaune. As the sound of their voices was replaced by silence, Jaune became more and more aware that Nora was still pressed against him. He could feel the warmth of her breath tickling his chin, and her chest pressed against his.

"You seriously thought I was going to kiss you?" she asked, still wearing that expression of tightly controlled anger.

"I - yes! Just for a moment, and then I made myself think rationally. If I just acted every time my hormones flare up, what kind of a person would I be?" Jaune demanded hotly.

"Oh, fuck it," muttered Nora, and pressed her lips firmly against Jaune's.

Jaune stiffened at first, expecting her to pull away, but as the kiss went on, he relaxed into it, kissing her back and wrapping an arm around her to rest on the small on her back. Nora slid her hand under his shirt, her eyes closed, and lips moving against his.

Against all caution, Jaune closed his eyes and let it happen. He felt a quick, inquisitive tongue dart at the edge of his mouth, and Nora's generous curves moving against him as she rubbed her whole body against him. He felt his body begin to react to hers, to what she was doing. For a moment he tried to resist what he was feeling, but the flush of arousal spread through him. And of course Nora could feel him, suddenly hard and pressing against her. Her hand slipped down from his shirt, fumbled with his belt, and then she was kissing him harder, her hand wrapped around him as she bit his lip.

And then Nora pulled away from him, breaking the kiss - although she didn't take her hand away.

"So what if you had kissed me?" she asked, her voice husky and raw. "What about now? I kissed you. Am I a bad person for doing it?"

"What?" asked Jaune, lost by her twisted logic and still too focused on what she was doing with her hand to gather his thoughts. "No! You're not a bad person."

Nora let him go, taking her hand out of Jaune's pants and re-buckling his belt.

"Did you want me to do that?" she asked.

"I didn't," admitted Jaune.

"But you liked it?"

Jaune nodded helplessly. And then he shook his head.

"What you were doing felt good, but whatever the hell you're playing at, I don't like at all," he bit out. "One minute you tell me that Pyrrha likes me. The next you're kissing me like you're about to fuck me, and act it out halfway with your hand!"

"That's what happens when you act on an impulse. Things happen. Sometimes you like them. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes the other person likes them. Sometimes they don't. That's life, Jaune. Don't be afraid to follow your impulses."

"When this is the result?" Jaune asked, aghast. "This is hardly a great example."

"Of course it is," said Nora. "You just don't get it yet. When we go back to the picnic, we won't mention this. It'll be as if it never happened. You might feel weird about it for a while, but then you'll get over it. That's the worst that can happen if you follow an impulse like this and it turns out wrong. It's only a problem when it turns out wrong and you keep trying."

"I get the feeling Pyrrha would take something like this a lot more personally," grumbled Jaune.

"Yeah, she would," said Nora. "That's who she is. And she likes you, so it'd matter a lot more to her. And even if she didn't like it, don't you think she can take care of herself? Don't you respect her enough to believe that she'll stop you trying something she doesn't want?" accused Nora, her expression beginning to return to a frown - although her cheeks were still flushed crimson.

Nora turned halfway around and groaned, slamming her palm into her forehead.

"Stupid, stupid Nora," she grumbled. "I got distracted by you and Pyrrha both being idiots. I had a whole speech planned, but then I gave you a handjob and ruined the moment."

"If you're concerned about Pyrrha being upset because of me, why did you do that?" demanded Jaune. "Don't you think she'd be upset if she found out?"

Nora groaned, and met Jaune's gaze guiltily.

"I didn't think that through. I just wanted to make a point. It's okay to make mistakes. I just hate seeing Pyrrha upset. But it's not about her liking you. Not all of it, anyway. That was just a jealous worry. She still worries that you have a thing with Blake, but she's more worried by the way you spend three or four nights a week away from the dorm."

"I didn't even think you'd noticed," said Jaune quietly.

"Idiot," muttered Nora. "Of course we noticed. I figured what the hell, you have your own life. Ren thinks you're in some kind of trouble. Pyrrha just waits up every night for you to come back. You smell when you come back, did you know that?"

"I smell?" asked Jaune, curious rather than offended.

"Sometimes alcohol, which I could understand if you were just sneaking out to bars. Pissed off that you didn't invite us, but I'd get it. But sometimes it's smoke. Not cigarettes. Fire smoke. Sometimes you smell like Dust gunfire." Nora paused, looking more concerned than she had for the entirety of this encounter. "Jaune, sometimes you come back in the middle of the night smelling like blood."

Jaune paused for several seconds, his mind flitting through a number of equally useless lies. In the end he gave in.

"Yes," he said, simply.

"We're your team," said Nora, almost pleading. "If you're in trouble, you can tell us."

Jaune gave Nora an incredulous look, and then sighed, shaking his head.

"No, I'm not in trouble. But maybe there are some things I should tell you all."

Nora looked at Jaune out of the corner of her eyes, cheeks still as bright with colour as they'd been when she'd been writhing against him.

"And maybe one thing that's just our secret?" she asked impishly.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Chapter 10, and we're on roughly seventy thousand words and 400 reviews. I feel a bit like I'm doing an unofficial NaNoWriMo full time these days, but it's a good feeling. I spent too long out of the habit of writing regularly. Hopefully it isn't too obvious! As always, please leave any thoughts, comments, criticisms or questions through the review box. I'll try to respond to as many of them as I can._

 _And a quick word of warning: sometime soon I'll be bumping the rating up to M, so be sure to check your browsing filters if you don't see the story for a while, or just follow the fic for easy notifications whenever I upload a new chapter. If The Yellow Death seems to have disappeared, it's because of the rating. I don't plan to abandon or delete it any time soon._

* * *

"Enjoy your picnic?" asked Blake, not looking up from her book. She was curled up in her favourite alcove in the library, spread across two chairs and hidden from view from almost any other spot in the room. Light from the high stained glass windows opposite shone in a bright patch here, making it ever so slightly warmer than the rest of the library.

Or at least that's what Blake claimed. Jaune couldn't tell the difference, and personally thought that she just imagined it that way because the stained glass caused this particular alcove to be lit with a reddish hue. Or that she made it up as an excuse for why she had to always sit in her favourite spot.

She glanced over the top of her book when Jaune didn't reply.

"You're giving me a weird look." she said, sounding mildly amused.

Jaune laughed quietly, and leaned against the wall beside her. Nope, it didn't feel any warmer than any other walls he'd touched recently.

"I was wondering if you lied about this spot being warmer. I still can't feel any difference," he said.

"Maybe my senses are sharper than yours," she replied. As she spoke, her bow twitched almost imperceptibly, subtly reminding Jaune that she was a Faunus.

"I doubt that one is," said Jaune, putting a hand on the top of her head and ruffling her hair affectionately, being careful not to nudge her bow out of place. "I think you just wanted an excuse to always make us sit here."

He pointedly glanced at the second chair, which was occupied by Blake's shapely legs. She followed his gaze, and then turned back to meet him with a small but wicked grin creasing the edges of her mouth.

"Did you want to check out my legs or sit down?" she asked, pointedly not moving an inch.

Jaune rolled his eyes.

"I was going to sit down, but your idea is alright, if you'd prefer that option," he said.

"Only alright?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and adopting a tone of mock hurt.

"If you want us to debate whether your legs are worth checking out, you'd better let me sit down first," said Jaune. "I might need to take notes in case you test me later."

"Hmph," said Blake. "Very well." She moved her legs back onto the floor, giving Jaune the tiniest of mock glares as she did so. "Have your chair, my idiot student. I'd assign you an essay on the subject, but alas, I teach your literature class as well as your legs class, so I know that you're only two-thirds of the way through the alphabet."

Jaune sat, smiling at Blake's dry mockery. It was all good-natured. Thanks to a huge amount of effort on her part, he could now read and write at the level of an average seventeen year old. Blake had repeatedly told him that it was an abysmally low standard, but it had enabled him to actually pass all of his classes. He felt that the change was phenomenal, and would take any jabs at his intellect with good nature and the memory of how recently Blake's insults had been closer to the truth than not.

"I just have to learn the vowels, and then we can move onto the next lesson."

"Hmm," mused Blake. "I should probably teach you what capital letters are next."

"Are they like capital cities?" asked Jaune in a tone of false innocence. "I don't need to send anyone in other cities a letter."

Blake's mouth twitched in a hastily repressed smile.

"Maybe we can skip that lesson and get back to our current class," she suggested.

"Which one was that?" asked Jaune, having gotten lost in the conversation.

"Your study of my legs. You're going to tell me how pretty I am if you want to get a good grade in legs class," she quipped.

"I suggested a debate on the topic. I didn't say that you were pretty," said Jaune.

"You'll fail the class if your debate leads to the wrong conclusion," said Blake, sighing theatrically, and opening her book again.

A moment later her legs were resting in Jaune's lap. He poked her calf with a finger, making her look up.

"Is there a problem with your study material?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's on my lap," said Jaune. "I'm definitely getting some negative opinions about these things to open my debate with. Pointy bits on the shoes. Sharp buckles."

Blake drummed her fingers on the tabletop for a moment, and then nodded.

"I see the issue. You don't know the difference between legs and shoes. The very premise of your argument is flawed."

"Is that so?" asked Jaune.

"I'm afraid it looks like you're going to fail legs class. Keep studying them until you're ready to tell me I'm pretty," she said. "And don't interrupt my reading unless you have at least four pleasant adjectives to describe my legs with," she finished in a dismissive tone, and attempted to turn back to her reading.

Jaune reached over and plucked the book out of her hands.

"Why do you do that?" he asked quietly.

"Read?" asked Blake, confused.

Jaune sighed.

"No. All of this," he said, gesturing to her legs. "I know you're not flirting with me, but I'm sitting here with your legs in my lap and you're literally demanding that I check you out. Why?"

Blake frowned, looking at Jaune curiously.

"We joke around like this all the time. It's never bothered you before," she said. "You haven't realised how wonderful my legs are and fallen for me all of a sudden, have you?" she asked.

Jaune laughed, and some of his unease ebbed away.

"Sorry," he said. "You're right. This is how you always are. My head's just in a weird place."

Blake cocked her head in an unspoken question.

"Something weird happened this afternoon," Jaune confessed.

"At your team picnic?" asked Blake.

"I - yeah. Sort of," said Jaune, awkwardly. He glanced around, and couldn't see anybody sitting nearby, but decided that he had to be cautious about even the slightest chance of being overheard. "This isn't really a conversation for the library," he said.

Blake snatched her book back, and stood up, stretching out her neck and back as she rose.

"My dorm should be empty," she suggested. "The other girls are all going to see a movie."

"Perfect," sighed Jaune, and followed Blake towards the dormitory building.

As they stood in the corridor outside, Jaune glanced nervously at the door to his own dorm, half-afraid that Nora might suddenly appear. Once they'd rejoined the picnic she'd been her usual self, and he'd almost forgotten what had happened until he was on his own again, and then he'd been frustrated by the memory of what had happened. He wasn't eager to running into her again, although he knew it was inevitable.

Team RWBY's door opened with a click as Blake scanned her Scroll against the lock, and the two of them walked inside. Jaune closed the door behind himself, and sat down on Blake's bed. She dropped cross-legged to the floor between the beds, and cupped her chin in her hands, looking up at him with a touch of concern.

"Alright, we're alone. What happened?"

Jaune grimaced, taking a moment to look around the room before gathering his thoughts. He was still amazed that their handmade bunk beds hadn't collapsed and crushed someone in their sleep. And he was especially grateful that they hadn't because Blake had a bottom bunk underneath Yang, who was almost as capable as Nora of destroying innocent furniture when excited.

The thought of Nora was like an insect buzzing inside his head. He'd promised to keep what had happened a secret, but Blake wouldn't tell anybody, and he needed to get it out of his mind - though a significant part of him wanted to pretend that nothing had happened and never let even Blake find out.

"The picnic was actually a lot of fun, but something happened beforehand," he said, and hesitated in his explanation.

Eventually, with a great deal of awkwardness, he summarised how Nora had dragged him away, brought up the mistakes he'd made about keeping secrets from his team, and then practically molested him.

Blake's amber eyes shone in interest.

"She just jumped you in the middle of an argument and gave you a handjob?" asked Blake.

"More like she just grabbed hold of me than that," said Jaune. It had been a clumsy and rough few moments. "While she was kissing me. In a pretty intense way."

"Intense how?" asked Blake. Jaune began to regret telling Blake this; she seemed far too interested in the sordid details. He winced, knowing that she wouldn't let it go.

"She grabbed hold of me because the kiss was intense enough that I - ah -" Jaune broke off, embarrassed.

"Nora got you rock-hard and went to investigate what this thing poking her was?" finished Blake, her voice full of repressed laughter.

"Pretty much," admitted Jaune.

"That's random, even for Nora," mused Blake. "And kinda hot."

"What!" yelped Jaune.

"I'm almost jealous," muttered Blake. "You clearly didn't appreciate it," she said, but rested a hand on Jaune's knee possessively, taking the sting out of her words.

"And you would?" asked Jaune. He'd never imagined that Blake would be interested in girls - he'd seen enough of her reading material to know that she wasn't a lesbian. But Blake just shrugged.

"So which part is it that has you freaked out?" she asked. "Nora jumping you, or the prospect of sharing whatever it is you do out in Vale at night."

Jaune thought over the question for a moment, and then let out a heavy breath.

"I can't tell my team everything about what I'm doing. Or even much. But I think I can give them enough details that they don't worry about whatever imaginary scenarios they might come up with."

"Can you tell me?" asked Blake quietly.

Jaune looked at her for a long time, and finally rested his hand on top of hers, giving it a squeeze.

"Not everything. But I can tell you more than I can tell my team. I think you might understand a bit better than they would. You've always known that I've been up to something, but you've always trusted that I knew what I was doing," he said.

"I may not have asked, but I wanted to know," Blake added in a soft voice. Jaune felt a fresh wave of guilt upon hearing that, and looked away from her.

"I'll tell you what I can," he said, feeling ashamed. "But to answer your question...I suppose it was Nora. I was planning to tell you some of what I'm doing, so I'm prepared to share some of my secrets. I wasn't prepared for her."

"Only Ren has that particular skill," said Blake, and Jaune laughed weakly.

"It was just so unexpected. And from what she was saying, it sounded like she did it to encourage me to make a move on Pyrrha," said Jaune.

"That sounds insane enough to be something Nora would do," said Blake slowly. "But how exactly is that supposed to work?"

"I think she was just trying to make a point. That it's okay to act on a moment's impulse without worrying about the consequences."

"I take it that she didn't convince you," said Blake flatly.

Jaune smiled at the notion, shaking his head.

"No, I think she realised my point that jumping your teammates randomly makes everything feel weird."

Blake smirked, and then slowly began to laugh.

"Sounds like it backfired on her. Remember that if it makes you feel uncomfortable. She's the one who made a mess of things. I'll bet she's feeling worse about it than you do."

"Why's that?" asked Jaune, the answer clicking into place as soon as he asked. "Oh. Pyrrha."

Blake climbed up onto the bed, looking almost smug.

"What?" Jaune asked, and she actually giggled, if only for a moment.

"I can't believe that this was what it took for you to realise that she does like you," managed Blake, and then leaned on Jaune's shoulder in a shaking heap of quiet mirth.

"There were hints," said Jaune reluctantly.

"Glaringly obvious neon billboards of hints, yes," added Blake, her voice full of muffled laughter.

"I guess I was ignoring them because I didn't want to cause problems for the team."

"Ignoring problems doesn't make them go away," said Blake. "You know better than that. What's the real reason?"

Jaune sighed, and lay back on Blake's bed, staring upwards.

"Pyrrha's not the kind of girl who you can casually hook up with. If I slipped up and let something happen, it'd be a big deal to her. It wouldn't be fair to her. If she gets upset thinking that there's something going on between you and me, imagine how hurt she'd be if I gave in to temptation then told her I didn't want to commit to a relationship," he said.

"Don't presume to know what a girl wants," scolded Blake. "She might be happy to know you're interested and accept that you're just not...available. For all you know, sleeping with her and then saying you aren't ready for a relationship would make her happier about the situation. At least she'd know how you felt. If I was her, I'd want to know."

"She's my friend," insisted Jaune. "I'm not going to take advantage of her just because she'd let me. I respect her enough that if I was going to go down that road, I'd do things properly. I just can't do that at the moment."

Blake sighed, and moved around on the bed so she was propping herself up by her elbows.

"Yeah. I guess she's pretty different to me. She wants to be with somebody."

"And you don't?" asked Jaune.

Blake threw a pillow at him, striking him in the face.

"Idiot. You know I'm in the same boat as you. Not ready for a relationship after how my last one turned out," she said with a sigh.

"You had a crush on a guy who turned out to be a dick," said Jaune. "That's not a relationship."

"He was like a mentor to me," said Blake quietly. "Even though nothing happened between us, we had a connection. And he betrayed that. Just because I didn't get the chance to fuck him doesn't mean it wasn't a relationship."

"Well that explains a lot," muttered Jaune. "You're terrified of getting close to people but are stuck as a horny bitch because you never get any closure on all that unrequited sexual tension."

Blake was silent for a moment, and Jaune began to worry that he'd upset her - and then she leapt on him, smothering his face with a cushion.

"I'm close to you, Jaune," she said sweetly. "Although I'm sure that our friendship is the worst mistake I've ever made."

"Mmph," spluttered Jaune from under the cushion.

"I quite agree," said Blake brightly, and pressed down harder. Jaune attempted to push her off, but without being able to see her, all he could do was flail his arms helplessly in an attempt to find where she was. "You can come up so long as you behave and never call me that again. It's such a rude phrase."

She released the cushion, and Jaune took the opportunity to snatch it from her and hit her in the face with it.

"You call somebody a bitch ten times a day," he pointed out.

"They usually are one," Blake shot back.

"It's often me," Jaune complained.

"My point stands."

"I'll accept that it's a derogatory thing to call you so long as you admit it's accurate," hedged Jaune.

Blake twitched menacingly, as if she was about to attack him with the cushion again, but then settled down.

"Oh, fine," she admitted. "You summed me up," she said bitterly. "I'm too terrified of getting close to people to do anything about it."

"Well you were right too," pointed out Jaune. "You got close to me. That's a start."

Blake sighed.

"You're different. It's like another world in here. Everybody is so sheltered from life outside school."

"You didn't know about my past when we met," said Jaune.

"I knew you had a friend who joined the White Fang. And you noticed that I'm a Faunus when nobody else has been able to, but you didn't care."

"Still not planning on telling your team?" asked Jaune quietly, already knowing the answer. Blake remained silent.

"One person accepts me for who I am. That's enough," she answered, avoiding the question, as Jaune knew she was going to.

"Not if that person isn't you, Blake," he said.

"I don't wear this bow to hide from myself," she hissed with sudden vehemence. "I wear it because it's the only way I can get the world to look at me as if I'm a person. I'm proud of who I am, Faunus, Huntress, and everything else."

"I'm sharing secrets with my team," said Jaune quietly. "Maybe you should, too." When she didn't reply, he nudged her shoulder gently. "I'm your best friend. Don't you think I know that you're lonely?"

"Better than what might happen," said Blake. "Don't ask me to do this. It just makes me more certain that I won't."

"Shall we add stubborn to the list?" Jaune joked, dropping the subject. Blake gave him a grateful smile.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Blake pulled out the book she'd been reading earlier. Jaune settled down next to her on the bed and closed his eyes as she began to quietly read aloud.

Although he didn't need her help re-learning how to read and write anymore, they had somehow kept up the habit of Blake reading to him in quiet moments when nobody else was around.

The time passed quickly, and sooner than Jaune would have liked, the door burst open, sending Ruby and Weiss spilling onto the floor.

"Ruby!" exclaimed Weiss. "Why must you always be in the way?"

"That's just the way she is," said Yang, peering over the fallen girls. "Hey Blake, Jaune. Did you guys go on a picnic today?"

"Just Team JNPR," said Blake.

"And I should probably catch up with my team," said Jaune, excusing himself. He stepped gingerly over the squirming mess that was Ruby and Weiss fighting to get up first, and exchanged an amused glance with Yang.

"You didn't have sex with Blake, did you?" she said suddenly, in a disappointed voice.

"Yang!" cried Ruby in astonishment. "Stop spreading those rumours!"

"She needs to loosen up! A good friend would step up and do his duty," claimed Yang.

Jaune gave Yang a bleak look, and she laughed it off, punching him in the shoulder.

He escaped into his dorm before Yang could taunt him further, and leaned against the closed door with a heavy sigh. She only ever teased, but it had stopped being funny as soon as it had begun, and Yang just wouldn't let go of the idea. She'd openly admitted that she knew they weren't a couple, but wouldn't stop making unhelpful suggestions about them changing that. It was annoying at the best of times, but Jaune really wasn't in the mood for it after what had happened earlier that day.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he closed them again and swore loudly.

The room was empty, save for Nora.

"Great," he groaned, and saw her look sheepish as she heard.

She walked over to him, and for a moment he considered bolting back out the door.

"So we should talk," she said quickly. "Maybe I went a bit too far earlier. I mean, you get what I was trying to say, don't you? It's not always bad to just do what you want when a random thought pops into your head, right?" Her tone was overeager, almost pleading.

Jaune wondered if she'd been waiting for him here. She looked guilty enough to be here for a reason, and their little encounter was the only reason she could possibly have for feeling guilty.

"It was bad that time," he said flatly, and Nora looked utterly downcast.

"I was just trying to help," she said, still not looking him in the eyes.

"You were right that I need to talk to the team about what's been going on. You helped with that part. As far as the other thing goes…" he trailed off.

"If Pyrrha finds out, she'll hate me," lamented Nora.

Jaune scoffed, and moved past Nora to sit down on his bed.

"She won't hear it from me. I'm pretending it didn't happen. And I'm not going to do an impression of you and jump Pyrrha the next time I see her."

"But...you get why I did it, right? I just wanted to show you that taking a chance can be fun. I know I crossed a line, but it was fun, wasn't it?" she insisted.

"And now you feel guilty and ashamed of doing it, because you risked hurting your friend's feelings," said Jaune.

Nora nodded glumly.

"I'm not snubbing Pyrrha because she'd not good enough or I don't like her. We've only been here a month or so. We still don't know who our team is made of. My secrets might be the obvious ones, but how much does Pyrrha know about Ren? How much do I know about you? I'm not going to mess up our team before we've even had our first mission."

"Then just don't mess it up," said Nora, as if things were that simple. Jaune sighed.

"I can't give Pyrrha what she wants. Not right now. And I'm not going to lead her on with scraps of attention. She's my friend, so I'm not going to start something unless it can be what she wants. I can't have a relationship right now, and you know that's what she wants."

"It's not all she wants," argued Nora, although there was little force in her voice. Her heart wasn't in it.

"We're going to be on a team for years together," said Jaune. "So we need to be clear about this from now on. No more meddling. Let Pyrrha make her own choices. Forget what happened today. I'm saying this as your team leader, not the guy you groped by the duck pond."

"Fine," grumbled Nora in exasperation. I'll watch Pyrrha mope about after you in peace. But I'm not forgetting what we did today."

"What you did," corrected Jaune.

"I started it, but you kissed me back," Nora insisted, looking more determined than she had since he'd entered the room. "It's our secret memory. The first memory we have together without Ren or Pyrrha around. That's special, even if it went weird afterwards."

"Have it your way. Just don't do that again without permission," Jaune said, giving up the endless task of arguing with Nora's twisted logic.

"Without permission?" she repeated, implication heavy in her voice. Jaune ground his teeth together in annoyance.

"I know what you're doing," he bit out. "Don't try to mess with me right now. I'm already irritated enough with you, but I'm willing to let it go since you had good intentions until you got that stupid idea to kiss me into your head."

"It was your idea, actually," she taunted in a sing-song voice. "I just went through with it."

Jaune collapsed backwards onto his bed, his eyes screwed tightly shut. He knew what she was playing at. She was annoyed at having been told not to do something, and had a fresh humiliation to wind him up with in a petty attempt at getting even. She was whimsical and acted on impulses constantly, which sometimes made her fun company, and sometimes led to mistakes like the duck pond had been. But having her freedom to act as she wished reigned in went against her nature and rankled so much that she couldn't help but spite Jaune for demanding that she stop meddling.

He sighed, and covered his face with a pillow. She'd get over it soon enough. As soon as the others came back to the dorm, she'd be distracted and forget that she was annoyed with Jaune for stopping her from doing what she wanted.

It was just going to be unbearable if Ren didn't get back to the dorm before Nora got another bad idea into her head.

Luckily for Jaune, Nora retreated under a set of headphones, humming quietly along to the music. He finally allowed himself to relax, and before too long had actually fallen asleep.

Sudden, blinding light woke him.

"Jaune?" asked Pyrrha, sounding amused and holding the pillow. He groaned and grabbed it back from her, using it to shield his eyes.

"It's too bright," he moaned.

"I've never seen you go to sleep so early," she commented, looking at the glow-in-the-dark clock which hung over Nora's bed as she spoke. "You went to bed before dinner. Are you going to go back to sleep, or do you want me to get you something to eat? I think we have some things left from the picnic," she offered.

"You make an awful lot of assumptions, Pyrrha," said Nora. The basket was lying on its side at the foot of her bed, and crumbs spotted the top of her duvet.

"That's my fault. I left Nora unsupervised with cookies by falling asleep," Jaune said ruefully.

"No wonder you're tired. You hardly slept at all last night," admonished Pyrrha. Jaune smiled at her wearily, choosing not to mention that she'd been up as late as he had. It was his fault, after all.

"And how come you never look tired?" asked Jaune. "Nora told me that last night wasn't the only time I've kept you awake. I'm used to sleeping less than most people, but if half of what she said is true, you must be exhausted.

Pyrrha turned red. Whether it was out of embarrassment at the question or at the fact that Jaune had found her out, he had no idea. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

"Too much coffee and just the right amount of make-up," she muttered after an awkward pause. "And sometimes naps in the evenings."

Jaune yawned widely, covering his mouth behind his arm, and then rubbed blearily at his eyes.

"Ugh," he muttered in annoyance. "I'm no good with naps. I always wake up feeling even more tired until I start moving again."

He stood, and peered around Nora to the far corner of the room. As he'd hoped, Ren was sitting there on his bed, leaning against the wall. Ren raised a hand in silent greeting. Jaune clenched his jaw, knowing that there was no sense in putting this off. Everyone was here.

"So," he began, speaking in a low voice. "How long have you noticed that I've been going out at night?"

The atmosphere in the room immediately changed, as if the air was charged with a sudden pressure. Jaune heard Pyrrha make a quiet but sharp intake of breath, and saw Nora's attention snap to him so quickly that he hardly saw her head turn. She reached up and unhooked her headphones.

Ren hopped off his bed, and sat down beside Nora, only pausing to brush something sticky and sweet off his sleeve in disgust.

"Ren saw you leave on the first night we moved into our dorm," said Nora.

Pyrrha stepped forwards, past Jaune, and fixed an accusing gaze on Ren.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, sounding hurt.

"It was one night," said Ren.

Pyrrha turned back to face Jaune, and from this close, he could see the tightness around her eyes that showed the strain of holding back whatever it was she was feeling under her calm demeanour.

"I started noticing about two weeks after school began," she said. "When I mentioned it to the others, we all started seeing you do it more and more often."

"But you were the only one who stayed awake waiting for me to come back every time," said Jaune quietly.

"There was blood on your jacket when you got in last night," said Pyrrha.

"I smell gunsmoke on you some nights," added Ren, watching Jaune cautiously.

Jaune pressed his lips together, wondering where to begin. He couldn't tell them everything, but he wasn't going to lie to his team either. He sat down on the edge of Pyrrha's bed, thinking.

After a moment, he realised that she was still standing, and shifted over to make room, gesturing for her to sit down. Once she had, all four of them were sitting close together. Somehow it felt more appropriate to talk about it all this way, rather than carrying a conversation across the room.

"You all know that I lived in the wilderness until recently. What I never mentioned was how recent it was. I was still there about ten days before we took the airship to Beacon. I was travelling with a group of refugees who'd lost their homes to Grimm. I saw a lot of groups like that over the years. Sometimes I'd travel with them for a while. There's safety in numbers."

Jaune let out a breath he'd been holding, and remembered the awful state he'd found them in, lost on a ruined path without any maps, and slowly being picked off by Grimm at night, one by one.

"Most groups I travelled with only moved away from the Grimm, and rebuilt their homes once they found somewhere safer. This group was different. They wanted to travel to Vale. Where there weren't any Grimm. It was a stupid idea. Nobody gets into the cities without travel documents and proof of identity, and nobody ever needs those things in a village in the forest. But it was a hope, even if it was a false one. Having a goal meant that they kept moving."

He looked up at his teammates, all three listening to him in silence. He didn't like having to hide part of the truth from them, but he knew that he had no choice but to start censoring his words from this point.

"We eventually ran into another group of people. They had a hideout in the ruins of Mountain Glenn. I took care of a problem they had with Grimm near their base, and they flew us into Vale on cargo Bullheads."

"Smugglers," muttered Nora as if it was a curse word, a dark expression crossing her features. Jaune hesitated at the sight of that, curious to know what had earned such a strong feeling from her, but held back from asking to continue his edited explanation.

"More or less," he said. "I had an arrangement with - I guess you could call him one of their partners. He forged identities for everyone who'd survived the journey and set them up in new homes in exchange for favours."

"Do we want to know what kind of favours?" asked Pyrrha, looking concerned. Jaune shook his head.

"Nothing too unpleasant. But you probably don't want to know the details. It was a fair trade, though. More than fair. He ended up as a friend, despite his line of work being somewhat shady, and got me into Beacon." Jaune laughed quietly to himself. "He said that he didn't want to see my potential wasted."

"Is he the friend you visit on the nights when you come home with blood on your clothes?" asked Pyrrha.

"Not usually," muttered Jaune wryly. "He introduced me to someone else he worked with. Junior. Junior owns a nightclub. And runs a gang."

Ren's eyebrows narrowed in suspicion, and Nora turned to him in a mixture of excitement and interest.

"You were right! Jaune's in trouble with a gang!" she exclaimed.

Immediately Jaune felt Pyrrha grasp hold of his arm. Her facade of calm was slipping, and he could see worry in her expression as clearly as he felt it in the way she squeezed his arm, as if she was trying to hold onto him so he couldn't wander off and get into trouble.

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, feeling a little bad for doing so, but finding the idea of Junior's Club threatening him to be utterly ludicrous.

"No," he gasped after a moment of struggling to regain his self-control. "That's not it. Junior runs an arena under his club. Nothing like the tournaments you've fought in, Pyrrha. It's a pit of thugs gambling for Lien and ego. I've been entering the fights, but almost none of them have any skill. It's a sure win for me, every time."

"You wouldn't do that just to get some spare cash," said Nora, staring at him. "Or if you were, you'd have enough after one or two fights. You're gone four nights in some weeks! Do you need to pay off the crook who smuggled you into Vale?" she asked, sounding angry, although not at him.

Jaune gave her a curious look, and decided that he was definitely going to try to find out the story behind that anger when he had the chance.

"No," he said quickly. "Like I said, Roman's a friend. I don't owe him anything. He even pointed me in this direction as a way to raise the money I need without having to get involved with his work. He is a criminal, after all," said Jaune with a small laugh. "He could get me work with rich rewards, but he didn't want me to stoop to petty burglary. So I fight in Junior's Club."

"If you're not paying off a debt, what do you need the money for?" asked Pyrrha.

Jaune bit the inside of his cheek, hating the rush of emotion and old memories which always came when he thought about this subject.

"My parents and two of my sisters died when I was younger. I survived. But I had seven sisters. Five of them had stayed home instead of travelling to that village with our parents," he said, his voice growing thick.

"I don't even remember their names or where we lived," he forced himself to say. "They were as lost to me as the sisters who died. But with enough money, you can hire someone to do something which seems so impossible to me. Finding my family with nothing but a surname and the memory of a family heirloom," he finished, tapping Crocea Mors to indicate what heirloom it was that he meant.

"There's no guarantee that it'll work," he added quietly. "But I nearly have enough to hire someone who can take the job and search every city on Remnant for my sisters. I think we came from Vale, but my memories of before everything went to hell are muddled. And even if we did, they could have moved. It's been years. This guy is expensive, but he's the best there is. And he's the only one who has the permits to work in all four cities."

He looked from one face to another, unsure of what else to say. Nora had shrunk in on herself, looking extremely unhappy. He supposed that she felt bad about confronting him about why he'd been sneaking away when this was the reason. Ren's face was as hard to read as always, but something about his eyes made him look pensive.

Pyrrha's eyes were red. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't manage to find the words she was looking for.

And then Ren stood, closing his fists in determination.

"We'll go with you. Four fighters, four bets," he said.

"Right!" exclaimed Nora. "We'll smash those wanna-be thugs and get everything you need four times as quick!"

"I don't think you'll get very good odds gambling on my fights," said Pyrrha apologetically. "But I'm with you."

Jaune stared at his team in disbelief. He was only a few weeks away from earning enough on his own, but he had never expected his teammates to offer to help him without a second's hesitation like this.

"I don't know what to say," he murmured under his breath.

"You say a hundred Lien on the redhead with the hammer," said Nora, earning a smile from both Jaune and Pyrrha.

"Yeah. I could say that," Jaune replied. He reached up to press a hand against his eyes, and stifled a yawn. "Maybe not tonight, though."

"I could use a good night's rest too," added Pyrrha, sending a rush of guilt through Jaune. "I was so worried that something horrible was happening and you couldn't tell us. I'm so glad that we can help," she said, beaming at him. "You won't have to sneak out again once we're through!"

Jaune chuckled sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, I do actually sometimes just go out to visit Roman. But I promise I'll tell you if I'm going to be out late, so you don't need to stay up," he said. He paused for a moment, and then smiled conspiratorially at his team. And if I go out to Junior's Club afterwards, you're all invited along, and we'll stick to the dance floor and the bar, not the underground fighting pit."

"Drinks are on Jaune," called out Nora. Pyrrha looked from Nora to Jaune disapprovingly.

"We're underage," she said. "We can't buy alcohol."

"We can try," said Nora enthusiastically.

Pyrrha began to protest, but Jaune interrupted her smoothly.

"Actually, none of you will be buying drinks. Junior's friends drink for free. And I think he'll extend that hospitality to my team."

"We're still underage," protested Pyrrha weakly.

Jaune grinned.

"Apparently it's only illegal to sell alcohol to minors in Vale. If no money changes hands there's legally no transaction. Junior's allowed to give us all the free drinks we could want. Lucky we don't live in Atlas or Mistral where the laws are different." Jaune carefully didn't mention that Junior would happily sell anything from alcohol to hard drugs to anyone who came into the club in Jaune's company. He didn't think that Pyrrha could take it - and didn't want to give Nora any ideas.

Ren was staring into space with a look of abject horror.

"Four years," he stated flatly.

Jaune looked at him quizzically.

"I had four years left before seeing Nora get drunk," Ren said in an emotionless tone. "Four years." His voice quavered a little on the last word, and he slumped down with his head in his hands.

Nora patted him on the back sympathetically.


	11. Chapter 11

The next few days passed quickly. With the weight of his confession off his chest, Jaune felt much more at ease around his team, and spent more and more time with them.

They were walking back from class together when a black-and-white blur streaked out of a tree and sent him rolling into the bushes.

"Jaune?" called Pyrrha worriedly.

"Ninja!" cheered Nora.

Jaune groaned, shifting his weight slightly to get away from the pebble which was carving a groove into his lower back.

"I'm fine," he called out, replying to the team he could no longer see. "I'll meet you guys back at the dorm soon. Forget homework for tonight. Take some time to relax before tonight."

"Don't be long," answered Pyrrha, ushering the remainder of Team JNPR away. Jaune grunted his assent, still winded from being knocked down, and looked up at his attacker. Blake sat atop him, straddling his hips to pin him in place.

Jaune could feel leaves and dirt caught in his hair and clothing from the tumble, but Blake did have so much as a crease in the fabric of her clothing - just a mischievous smile creeping out from behind her attempts to put on a stern expression.

"Nora tells me that you're going out tonight," she said, leaning forwards to whisper conspiratorially. She propped herself up on her elbows, her face only inches away from Jaune's. Her chest brushed against his, and the movement caused her to grind against him slightly.

The effect was slightly ruined by the reek of tuna on her breath.

"Did you really need to mount me in public to ask if you could come?" Jaune grumbled, turning his face away.

"The odds of me coming seemed better if I was on top when I asked," Blake replied. Jaune glared at her, but couldn't tell whether she'd intended the innuendo or not. He suspected that it was on purpose, and glared at her all the more because of it.

"The odds would be better if you brushed your teeth. You smell like a whale with indigestion," complained Jaune. Blake huffed, and sat upright. Still straddling him.

"Is this better?" she asked, raising an eyebrow sardonically.

Jaune felt his body begin to respond to the beautiful young woman sitting on top of him, and shoved her off, sending her face-first into the ground.

"Now it's better," he said, the oncoming crisis happily averted. He looked over to see that she'd managed to catch herself on her hands and feet, and frowned. "Damn," he said. She laughed, and climbed to her feet, dusting imaginary dirt off her spotless uniform. Jaune copied her a moment later, although in his case the specks of mud, leaves, and twigs were very much real.

"I already invited you, anyway," he said. "Last night?"

Blake looked away, her cheeks reddening slightly.

"It was a good chapter," she mumbled. Jaune sighed.

"Did you hear any of what I told you?" he asked. She shrugged noncommittally in reply.

"Some. Not all. You're going out clubbing. Drinks, illegal blood sports, maybe some cavorting with criminal low-lifes. I'll have to dress like a stripper to blend in with the crowd, but drinks are on you."

"You already dress like a stripper," muttered Jaune.

Blake slowly raised an eyebrow, and then jammed a set of surprisingly sharp nails into Jaune's throat.

"What was that?" she murmured in dangerously soft tones. Jaune gulped, and immediately regretted it, as the tiny movement of his throat pushed her nails further into his skin. A tiny droplet of blood appeared on the nail of her first finger, and slowly rolled down the digit.

She pulled her hand away and licked the finger clean, not taking her menacing gaze off Jaune the whole time.

"A classy stripper?" he tried weakly. Blake gave him a long stare, and then shrugged again.

"Good enough," she agreed, and then paused, a queer expression crossing her face. "And I spend half my time dressed in a school uniform," she added, giving a shudder. "Maybe the third tackiest stripper outfit after nurse and maid."

"Don't wear your uniform tonight," advised Jaune. "Your normal outfit would be better."

"Mhm," said Blake. "I already told Nora something similar. She thought going clubbing in her uniform would be cute."

Jaune groaned.

"Don't worry," said Blake, cutting him an amused expression. "I talked her out of it. And she's already agreed to leave her weapon at school. She'll be fine so long as the bartender checks her Scroll ID before serving her."

"He won't," said Jaune despondently, but then turned a serious expression on Blake. "But you should bring your weapons tonight."

Blake cocked her head, curious. A moment of silence passed, and Jaune realised that she was waiting for an explanation.

"High-class Hunter weapons in The Pit would be an unfair advantage against the off-the-rack mass-produced garbage that fights there, but you won't be fighting in the ring if you come out. I'm meeting Roman tonight," said Jaune, and then hesitated. "He's got a job for me. I was hoping you could come along."

"Need a cat burglar?" quipped Blake, startling Jaune into blinking in astonishment. This was one of the first times she'd so easily brought up even a suggestion of her Faunus heritage. After the moment passed, he grinned.

"More of a lookout. And I wanted to show you something."

"Is this that secret you still haven't told even your team yet?" she asked.

Jaune nodded grimly.

"More than one, actually. Come by my dorm around nine? I don't want my team out too late, so I'm hoping we can wrap the fights up early and send them home before we have to leave with Roman."

"Actually, I'll meet you by the fountain. If Yang finds out we're going to a nightclub, you know she'll insist on coming," said Blake.

Jaune shrugged.

"So long as she went home with the others, I don't see a problem," he said. Blake gave him a fixed stared that went on for far too long. "What?" he asked, confused.

"You said Junior's Club?" she asked. Jaune nodded. "She blew it up less than six months ago."

Jaune stared.

"Yang's attacked Junior and Ruby's attacked Roman. Shit. I'm glad I decided not to get your team involved in this," he said, mind boggling at the implications. "I only held back because Ruby's so young and Weiss is famous. That could have been a disaster," he muttered, and swore under his breath. Blake smirked.

"So it really is Roman Torchwick that you're friends with," she said softly.

Jaune gave her a speculative glance, and then smiled.

"Not many criminals out there called Roman, huh?" he asked.

"Small world," replied Blake. "You sure he's your friend?" she asked, her tone empty of the judgement or concern that would have been in most people's, but only a simple curiosity about Jaune's opinion.

Jaune smiled at her easily.

"There aren't that many terrorists out there called Blake Belladonna, but we're still friends, right?" he replied.

She instantly froze, stiller than he'd ever seen her go.

"I've never told you that," she whispered. "Even Professor Ozpin only knows that I'm a Faunus."

"Are you sure?" asked Jaune quietly. "He knows more than he lets on."

"How did you know?" insisted Blake, grabbing Jaune by the collar forcefully. She wasn't quite desperate, but there was a fierceness in her actions that he'd never seen quite so openly before. He grasped her hands, slowly unclenching her fingers to free himself from her grip, and lowered her hands, squeezing them.

"Roman did some digging when I told him about the friends I'd made. He likes to keep tabs on me," explained Jaune.

"That doesn't sound healthy," muttered Blake, still staring intently and unblinking at him.

"I wouldn't have brought it up unless you chose to tell me, but Roman knows. And since you might be meeting him tonight...I guess I wanted you to find out that I knew from me, not from a stranger," said Jaune.

"How long?" asked Blake. Her face had gone pale, and even though Jaune had released her hands, she was still holding their fingers interlocked together tightly.

"Almost as long as I've known you," he replied.

"And you didn't say anything?" she asked, looking both hurt and confused. Jaune gave her a perplexed look, and eventually shrugged.

"What was there to say?" he asked in response. "You're my best friend now. You weren't a year ago. I don't know that Blake."

She looked at her hands, her expression distant, and let go of Jaune to turn her palms upwards and stare at something only she could see.

"I do," she whispered.

"That look on your face makes me glad we're going somewhere I can get you a drink tonight," muttered Jaune.

"I'm not sure I should go," hedged Blake, looking as if she was about to flee. Jaune caught her in a strong grip by her shoulder as she turned, causing her to lose her footing and fall against him with a muffled yelp.

"Why?" he challenged. "Nothing's changed. You just found out that I know something you thought I didn't."

"Everything's changed," whispered Blake. "Nobody was supposed to know."

"Nobody does. I do," said Jaune.

She looked up at him, tense as he'd ever seen her, and with a redness in her eyes that worried him beyond words.

"And you're okay with it?" she demanded.

"You don't seem to be," said Jaune, ruffling her hair. She made a noise of annoyance, and batted his hand away. He laughed quietly, and she finally relented, giving him a small but frustrated smile. "Come with us tonight. Not because of your secrets, but because of mine. Since I know your dark secret, it's only fair that I share mine with you."

Blake finally slumped into a resigned heap, still leaning against Jaune.

"Fine," she mumbled. "But I'm holding you to the offer of free drinks."

"You can start with mouthwash," Jaune joked, his nose still wrinkled from the strong smell of fish on her breath. She whirled around to glare at him, but somewhere in the motion her melancholy was lost, and she began to shake with silent laughter.

"My first drink's going to be a tuna martini," she promised, beginning to relax once more.

Jaune shivered in horror at the thought.

"Please don't ask Junior for one. He'll take it as a challenge and try to make it work."

Blake began to grin wickedly.

"Blake?" pleaded Jaune desperately. "Don't make me bring your toothbrush to a nightclub. Don't push me."

Her grin didn't fade, and Jaune felt a chill run up his spine at the thought of a club full of fishy-breathed goons in red shades.

"Blake!" cried Jaune, but she was walking away from him, sashaying her hips in the way that she only ever did when she was taunting him. He groaned aloud in frustration for her benefit, but inwardly felt a rush of relief that she hadn't taken his sudden revelation as badly as she'd seemed intent to.

He watched her walk away for a moment, and then was knocked out of his thoughts by somebody grabbing him around the neck in a cross between an affectionate tackle and a war-crime.

"Y'know," said Yang, his unseen assailant, "for a girl you're not dating, Blake spend an awful lot of time walking away from you wiggling her ass like that."

"Spend a lot of time looking at her ass?" retorted Jaune, squirming in an attempt to get free, but Yang's grip was too strong.

"About as much as you," said Yang.

Jaune looked up at her out of the corner of his eyes suspiciously.

"That's a lot," he said flatly.

"I know," said Yang, in a voice of shameless good spirits. "But not because she's wiggling it at me like that."

"It's just her way of saying 'fuck you'" complained Jaune, finally extricating himself from Yang's near choke-hold.

"Funny," said Yang, putting her hands on her hips. "It's how most girls say 'fuck me', not 'fuck you'."

"So is that it?" asked Jaune, exasperated. "You keep pushing me to make a move on Blake to remove the temptation of doing it yourself?"

"Nah," said Yang happily. "I've just caught an eyeful in Team RWBY's communal showers while I've been scrubbing her back. Does your team all shower together too, or do you and Ren pair up and let the girls go separately?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "I bet you only shower with Ren, but you should really all pile in. It really builds team spirit!"

"You do not all shower together," said Jaune flatly, working as hard as he could to keep the image out of his head.

Yang grinned at him mercilessly.

"You can say that all you want, but you'll never know for sure. And you'll never stop wondering," she taunted.

A small squeak came from somewhere nearby. Jaune looked to his left and slightly down to find a mortified Ruby, her face the same colour as her trademark cloak and scythe.

"Hi Ruby," he said dryly.

"I'm so sorry about Yang," she rushed out in a tiny voice. Jaune smiled disarmingly.

"It's not your fault. Just don't take after your sister too much, okay?"

"I'll kill her first," promised Weiss, striding up to join them. She gave Ruby a pointed glare, and added under her breath "and not even for that reason."

Jaune frowned.

"How long have you guys been here?" he asked.

"We were with Blake after class, but then she disappeared up a tree and attacked you," explained Ruby.

"So naturally we didn't want to interrupt while she was mounting you, or when you were making out," continued Yang.

"We were talking," interjected Jaune, but Yang ignored him and steamrolled past his feeble attempt to correct her.

"And then you were holding hands, and she looked upset, so we thought you guys needed some space, but then you had this whole weird hug thing going on when she tried to bolt, and we knew everything was okay when you got the ass-wiggle as she walked off," finished Yang.

Weiss sighed.

"We didn't want to interrupt a private conversation so I shared some of my notes from class with Ruby," she said. "Honestly, Yang, have you ever tried to walk in heels as high as Blake's without a bit of extra movement in your hips?"

Yang looked confounded as she looked at Weiss.

"Why would I want to do either of those things?" she asked, sounding affronted. "I can't walk in heels that high, and I'm not going to stop my hips from going where they think you ought to be!"

Jaune took advantage of the distraction to duck out of the conversation and slip away. Ruby trailed along beside him, leaving Yang and Weiss bickering behind them.

"Is Blake okay?" she asked in a quiet voice. Jaune shot her a grateful look.

"Yeah, she's fine now. It was just a bit of a misunderstanding," he explained, leaving out just about every scrap of detail. "Hey, Ruby, can you do me a favour, team leader to team leader?"

"Sure!" said Ruby, her chipper self immediately reappearing. "What can I do?"

"Make sure Yang doesn't notice Blake sneaking out tonight. She's helping my team out with something, and we need to make sure we're quiet about it," said Jaune.

"Can Team Rwby help?" offered Ruby immediately and enthusiastically. Jaune laughed aloud in pleasure at her naked enthusiasm, but shook his head.

"I thought about asking you guys, but it turns out that Yang has a history with one of the guys we're meeting up with tonight. I didn't want her feeling left out, so I only invited Blake."

"Gotcha," said Ruby, wincing slightly. "But you better invite us on the next mission!"

"So long as it doesn't involve anyone Yang's set on fire," promised Jaune. Ruby smiled at first, and then wilted as she realised just how many people that added up to over the years.

"Well, at least we'll have a field trip with you guys when we go to Forever Falls," said Ruby, her bubbly personality never pushed down for long.

Jaune nodded distantly.

"When is that, next week?" he asked.

"Yup!" exclaimed Ruby. "Next weekend. Think we'll get to fight any Grimm?" she asked eagerly.

"Well they are attracted to negative emotions," mused Jaune. "If you spend all week really annoying Weiss you might be able to turn her into the perfect bait for an Ursa or two."

"I could never do that!" cried Ruby. Jaune chuckled, holding back a comment about how she probably wouldn't need to do anything different if she wanted to wind up Weiss.

Ruby protested her innocence and the unfairness of Weiss' accusations and personality all the way back to the dorm building. Jaune listened with half an ear and the occasional nod of agreement, until eventually saying goodbye in the corridor outside their respective rooms.

Hours later, long after the sun had set, JNPR and Blake set out towards Junior's Club. Although it was deep in Vale, and would normally take Jaune several hours to walk there, he'd made alternate arrangements since he was bringing a group with him this night.

The roar of engines flared as a Bullhead rose over the cliff edge, and settled down onto Beacon's landing strip.

"I thought you said you'd booked us a taxi," muttered Blake in surprise.

"There aren't any road up to Beacon," replied Jaune. "You can only get up here by the air."

"I sometimes got private flights to tournaments, but you mean to say that you've been taking a Bullhead to a nightclub three times a week?" asked Pyrrha, sounding both amused and horrified.

"Shotgun!" called Nora, ignoring all three of them.

Jaune snorted at Nora's reaction, hiding a smile.

"No," he said. "The Bullhead's just for tonight. I usually walk into town."

"Down a cliff?" asked Blake, sarcasm thick in her voice. Jaune rolled his eyes as the Bullhead door slid open, revealing a familiar face.

"I climb the cliff. Then I walk," said Jaune, raising a hand to Roman in greeting.

The others had much more varied reactions. Blake narrowed her eyes silently, as did Ren. Nora bounded eagerly towards the aircraft, and Pyrrha turned to look at Jaune.

"When you said your friend was called Roman, I was so hoping that you didn't mean Roman Torchwick," she said to him quietly.

"I know his reputation," replied Jaune. "But if not for him I'd never have met you. A lot of good people would have died in the wilderness. Give him a chance?" he asked.

Pyrrha fidgeted hesitantly, not meeting Jaune's gaze. He caught her chin in one hand, pushing her head up to make her look at him.

"I'm not asking you to trust him. In fact, I'd warn you not to. But remember that he's more than just what you see on the news."

"Jaune, dear boy! And all your little lambs! Best hurry it up on board before somebody wonders why we're flying around Beacon so late at night," called Roman, gesturing with his cane for everybody to move inside.

They filed inside, one by one. Roman standing in the entrance meant that there was only room for them to pass one at a time. Jaune had no doubt that it was deliberate, but couldn't guess why - although Roman was certainly taking the opportunity to size up his team and Blake as they walked by.

Jaune was the last on on board. Roman rapped his cane on the metal floor, and the door shut as if automatically, nearly catching the edge of Jaune's sleeve. Everybody had found a seat and strapped themselves in, but there was no more room for Jaune or Roman.

"You can come up front and enjoy the view," declared Roman. Jaune took a step forward, expecting to be shunted into the co-pilots seat, only to stumble backwards as the aircraft lifted off the ground.

He swore loudly enough to be heard over the engines, causing Nora to giggle and Roman to grin.

"I thought you were flying this thing!" he exclaimed, and Roman winked.

"Who says I'm not?" asked Roman, putting an arm around Jaune and shepherding into an empty cockpit. The controls moved by themselves, as if operated by a ghost. Jaune stared with an open mouth before turning back to Roman with a skeptical expression.

"Don't tell me your Semblance is Autopiloting," he bit out, feeling the queasiness of air travel already begin to affect his stomach. He pushed it away with a flare of Aura, but it left a sour edge to his mood.

"Jaune, meet Neo, my dearest friend and partner in crime," introduced Roman. The cockpit froze as if caught in a still image, which then shattered into glass, revealing a petite woman with brown and pink hair sitting in the pilot's seat.

Neo looked back at them with a silent smile, and then there was a strange feeling in the air for a moment. Jaune felt a sudden pressure in his ears, and his eyes watered. As soon as it began, it was over.

"As she has so adroitly demonstrated, Neo's Semblance is Illusion. A particularly useful gift, and one which she uses masterfully. This entire craft is caught in her shroud. Nobody can see us from the ground."

"Useful indeed," muttered Jaune. "Pleasure to meet you, Neo."

Neo bobbed her head in acknowledgement without turning around. Jaune guessed that she was too focused on flying the Bullhead and maintaining the illusion simultaneously for idle chitchat.

Roman dropped into the co-pilot's chair, and took over the controls. Neo released her set, and climbed to her feet. Jaune marvelled internally at her tiny figure. She was noticeably smaller than even Ruby, and yet looked similar in age to Roman, which was to say that she had an air of maturity that the students of Beacon did not, yet also had the ageless, youthful appearance possessed by many Hunters.

At a glance Jaune could have mistaken her for a child because of her size, but she could also be a fully grown woman.

Neo bobbed a surprisingly elegant and unexpected curtsey to Jaune, not losing her balance even the tiniest bit despite a sudden pocket of turbulence. Jaune's stomach lurched at the motion, and Neo smoothly slid back into her chair.

He caught himself against some straps hanging from the ceiling, clinging on tightly. His heart hammered wildly, and his breathing matched it in both pace and panic until the plane levelled out.

Once Jaune had regained control over himself with a few deep breaths, he noticed Roman's lips moving silently.

"What?" he asked, and Roman turned to grin at him.

"Forgive me, I was just speaking to Neo. Her Semblance covers sound as well as sight."

"Private conversation?" asked Jaune, raising an eyebrow.

"She was just asking if you'd heard from Junior recently," said Roman, and then he gave an apologetic shrug. Neo was staring intently out the cockpit window, making no sound and not moving her lips, but then Roman moved his lips silently again, and gestured with his hands. It happened a few more times, and Jaune got the feeling that he was only seeing one half of a silent conversation.

After a few minutes, Roman turned back to face Jaune, who'd managed to wrap himself securely in various straps to prevent himself from being knocked around. It worked, but he felt a little like a fish in a net.

"We've all got our quirks," Roman said by way of explanation. "Neo's a very...visual woman. She's not much of a one for chatting. And hates being overheard."

"She made a lousy choice in partners if she doesn't like mouthy people," joked Jaune. Neo flashed him an amused glance, and winked.

"She's very fond of my mouth," quipped Roman. "Why else would she steal everything I say to her away all to herself if she didn't treasure it?"

Blake appeared in the doorway, snickering at the sight of Jaune trussed up in a mess of knots, and gave Roman and Neo a spurious look before beginning to untie Jaune, despite his protests.

"Is that the only reason she's fond of your mouth?" muttered Blake sarcastically, under her breath, and almost inaudibly because of the sound of the engines. Moments later, her fingers fumbled on the strap she was attempting to unravel, and she blushed a deep crimson.

Roman began to laugh, slapping his leg in mirth.

"What am I not getting?" asked Jaune, giving in to Blake's pushing, and finishing the job of untangling himself while looking from one friend to the other.

"If I had to guess, Jaune, my dear Neo has just explained to Miss Belladonna that her razor wit was spot on the mark," said Roman, tipping his hat in an exaggerated gesture to Blake, who was still bright red.

"She still is," whispered Blake, frozen in embarrassment. "In graphic detail."

Suddenly her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth in shock.

"A word of advice, Miss Belladonna?" suggested Roman. "Neo is very sensitive to words like graphic, or image, or vision, and so on. She tends to take them as suggestions."

"So I see," mumbled Blake.

Jaune looked at Roman, overwhelmed by amusement, and then back to Blake, who was wearing an expression of interest and fascination under her burning cheeks.

"Not just partners in crime, then," he said eventually. Roman glanced at Neo, listening to something that Jaune couldn't hear. He grinned wickedly.

"Oh, that particular scene was a crime as well. Trespass, burglary, and a touch of debauchery to celebrate our success before heading home. Ah, that was a good night," he said fondly.

Blake blinked rapidly, and let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Did you see…?" she asked Jaune, trailing off mid-sentence.

"Do I want to?" asked Jaune cautiously, seeing how breathless she was. She nodded, not saying a word. The colour in her cheeks said more than enough. "Why did your girlfriend just show Blake an amateur porn video illusion?" he asked Roman, both bewildered and amused.

"Partner, Jaune. Partner. Not girlfriend. That word is so puerile."

"Partner, then," said Jaune, sighing.

Roman raised his palms upwards and shrugged innocently, although he couldn't quite mask the smug glee from his expression.

"She was just replying to Miss Belladonna's comment. But as I said, she's very visual. Whereas you or I might simply say yes - that would be you - or describe how right she was in exquisite and tawdry detail - that would be me - Neo possesses the ability to demonstrate anything she wishes."

"So you just watched Roman do something with his mouth other than talk?" asked Jaune, both stunned and curious.

Blake nodded silently.

"Huh. I didn't think he could do anything other than talk," mused Jaune. "I mean sure, I've seen him drink plenty of times, but I figured that was just a way of bribing somebody to listen."

Roman snickered with laughter, and then an image flashed before Jaune's eyes.

It was only there momentarily, but he saw enough to gather that it was a brief glimpse of what Blake had been watching. He felt heat rise in his cheeks, and exchanged a look with Blake.

"Ah," he said eloquently. "Does she do that to everybody she meets?" he asked.

Roman shook his head.

"Illusions, yes. But not that kind. I suggested that she demonstrate her abilities to you both when we were making plans for tonight."

"So you picked the scene," muttered Jaune. "That makes a bit more sense."

But then Roman grinned broadly, and shook his head once more.

"Oh no, that was all Neo. Miss Belladonna made a rather suggestive comment, and Neo's not one to be outdone when it comes to suggestive images."

Jaune sighed, leaning his head against the cool metal wall of the bulkhead.

"I thought men were supposed to be the ones with dirty minds," he muttered.

Roman gave Jaune a pitying smile.

"I'm afraid that women have us beaten in that area. Men are simply so much more vocal and crass about it. Women are simply subtler about it."

Jaune gave Roman a long, hard stare.

"Nothing about that was subtle," he said.

"The rest of your team haven't a clue what you and Miss Belladonna just saw," said Roman teasingly. Do you think they'd like to?"

"Don't corrupt them," ground out Jaune. "Blake reads too much smut for her own good, but the rest of them are innocent as - as…" he trailed off.

"A duck pond?" suggested Blake wickedly. Jaune closed his eyes, and bit back a scream of frustration. While he was concocting a plan to bash Roman's head in with a brick, Blake moved past him to lean on the back of Neo's chair, watching the skyline of Vale out the window.

"Stop calling me Miss Belladonna," she said offhandedly. "My name is Blake."

"Oh, but Belladonna is a wonderful name! Both the name of a poisonous flower and meaning a beautiful woman, it suits you perfectly," declared Roman. "Exquisite and dangerous, just like my Neo. I can see why Jaune is so fond of you."

"I only need the tiniest excuse to bash your head in with a brick," said Jaune, speaking his fantasy aloud. "Call her Blake, or I'm pulling the first loose brick out of Junior's wall and denting your hat."

Neo spun a brief image of Jaune repeatedly hammering a brick against Roman's head until his hat was crumpled and stained red with blood. Jaune let out a deep breath, and smiled - partly at the image, and partly at it disappearing before it made him feel too uneasy.

"Thank you, Neo," he said in a strained voice.

Roman's eyes were wide, and Jaune assumed that she'd shown the illusion to both of them.

"Oh, lovely," he muttered, and then clapped his hands together, leaning forwards eagerly. "Well, at least it seems that Neo likes you."

"Are you sure?" asked Jaune, only slightly skeptically.

"She showed Blake an illusion of herself orgasming for several minutes and gave you a cathartic outlet to look at before you felt the need to act out the scene for yourself. I recall the outside of Junior's Club has a great many loose bricks in it after the damages earlier this summer," said Torchwick. "Ah, isn't bonding fun?"

Jaune exchanged wary looks with Blake before dropping his head and sighing.

"And yet all of this has distracted us from my original question," reminded Roman.

"Yes, it has," replied Jaune. "I don't remember any question. Or what it felt like before I knew what you looked like naked."

"Have you heard from Junior?"

"Not since I told him I was going to come by with my team to rack up some serious Lien. I let him know a few days ago so he could stack the house odds and make sure he didn't lose any money from our little venture," said Jaune.

"That was well thought-out. It gave him a chance to profit, and avoided you from pissing him off," said Roman, nodding in approval.

"And my team are all underage," muttered Jaune. "I didn't want to drag them out this far and get one of them thrown out when one of the schmucks working security or bartending asks for an ID."

"If they're seen coming in with you, a toddler could buy a double vodka and a bag of heroin, kid," said Roman in tones of wry amusement.

Jaune shrugged.

"I know. But I'm not putting any faith in the ability of Junior's goons to pay attention to detail. Or my team's ability to stay where I can see them."

"Fair enough," replied Roman. "But you forgot that Junior knows that Pyrrha Nikos is on your team." Still leaning on the back of Neo's chair, Blake stiffened, and turned to look at them warily. "Ah, Blake gets it. You still don't appreciate how famous she is, do you?"

"So she won a few tournaments," said Jaune. "It happens. There are lots of skilled Hunters."

"Jaune," said Blake quietly. "She's never lost a bout. Ever."

"Junior's set something up on the sly. Word isn't on the street, just among the regular fighters. Put down some serious cash for the chance to fight the Invincible Girl. One hundred entrants, winner keeps the pot."

Jaune frowned.

"I didn't think he'd have told you," muttered Roman to himself. "Alright, look. He's going to ask, but he's not really asking. He's already set this up behind your back, without your permission. He didn't tell me, either, so it's a sure bet that he's deliberately trying to put you on the spot."

"You mean Pyrrha," said Jaune darkly.

Roman shook his head.

"You're bringing her. It's not about her. This is about you. He's pushing you to see how you'll react. Think of it like, oh, you started your own operation on the side with a few of his men. He's using a member of your team without your permission. Do you let him?"

Jaune growled, low in his throat.

"Bastard. I was starting to think of him as a friend," he snarled. Roman jabbed Jaune in the gut with his cane to get his attention.

"He is. This is business. Your first order of business with him. Are you some freelancer looking to cash in, or are you a peer to do talk straight with and be respected? This is your time to show him whether he's in control or you are."

Jaune gripped the hilt of his sword without thinking, biting the inside of his cheek. A hot coppery taste flooded his mouth, and he swallowed the mixture of saliva and blood with a grimace.

"I needed the money from this for my sisters," he said quietly. "But I've waited seven years. I can wait a little longer. He's not using my team as playthings for profit."

"Anger is good," said Roman quietly. "Junior's a big guy. He understands anger and violence better than logic and profit when it comes to jostling for position. But don't just come at him angry. Come at him smart. You have three choices; roll over for him and take your cut, cut the deal he's already broken, or take back control of the situation."

"Turn a loss into victory," muttered Jaune.

"You haven't lost anything yet. You can back out and show you're not to be fucked with, or you can turn the tables on him. He won't try anything like this again either way, but if you're good, you can get everything you set out to without losing face."

Jaune stared at Roman for a moment, weighing up his options. Finally he bit down on an angry retort, and spun around to leave the cockpit.

"It's not me who he wants fighting. Pyrrha's not going in that ring unless she agrees."

He couldn't hear Roman's response. The door sliding shut behind him cut the conversation off as cleanly as if it had been a knife.

Jaune's team looked up at him, all wearing eager expressions and dressed in casual clothing. He sighed, and sat down in the only empty seat.

"Are we there?" asked Nora excitedly.

"Nearly," said Jaune. "But something's come up. Junior's decided to change the rules without telling me. If Roman hadn't given me a heads-up, we'd be walking in there blind."

"What's wrong?" asked Pyrrha. Ren studied Jaune silently, idly touching the sleeve of his coat. Jaune caught the gesture and sighed at the implication. Apparently Ren had disregarded his instructions and snuck one of his easily concealed pistols onboard.

"Nothing like that, Ren. Don't worry," said Jaune, giving his cautious friend an uneasy smile. "It's you, Pyrrha. Junior knows you're on my team, and he's decided to use your reputation to make some extra profit."

"This sounds familiar," murmured Pyrrha to herself.

Jaune leaned forward, trying to keep the anger off his face.

"He's gone behind my back and broken our deal. Worst case scenario, I tell him that straight to his face, and we walk out of there. He loses his opportunity, and learns not to try to mess with my people. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do. I'll earn the money another way, okay?"

"What's changed?" asked Pyrrha, in a resigned tone.

"He's been advertising the opportunity to fight you. Pay to enter the ring, one hundred tickets. I don't know what he's charging, but the winner takes it all. Minus his twenty-five percent cut."

"This is public knowledge?" asked Ren in tones of quiet alarm. Jaune shook his head.

"Just about everyone who knows will be there. Nobody's going to talk to the press. They'd have to reveal what's happening in The Pit to do that, and they'd lose their only source of cheap and dirty violence to sell the story. Not to mention getting a pissed off gang out for their blood."

"So long as nobody's going to find out, I can do this," said Pyrrha quietly.

Jaune winced at the forlorn sound of her voice.

"Pyrrha, I don't want to abuse your friendship for a quick payout. He's using me to take advantage of you. To sell tickets at ridiculous prices."

Pyrrha was staring at the Bullhead floor for a long time, but when she looked up it was with a smile.

"I know, Jaune. That's why I'll do it. Not for some crook running a gambling den. For you. It's a good cause. You're not after money or fame. You just want your family back. I can do this," she said firmly, looking him square in the eye.

Jaune let out a guilty breath.

"You're sure?"

"If I win, we get the prize, right?" asked Pyrrha.

"When you win!" corrected Nora, almost leaping out of her seat.

"Right," said Jaune.

"Then maybe we can get enough money in one night and never have to do this again," she said, smiling sheepishly at Jaune. "I'll just think of it as a new kind of training."

Jaune smiled at her awkwardly, opening his mouth to thank her.

His clumsy words of gratitude were interrupted by the Bullhead abruptly rocking. The engines roared into life, and a hideous screech of concrete on steel and rubber announced that they had landed.

Roman had landed the Bullhead atop an abandoned warehouse, less than half a mile from Junior's Club. Neo did something peculiar to it, making it blend in perfectly with the surroundings without actually covering it or turning it invisible.

Jaune looked at her quizzically, and she flashed a split-second illusion in front of his eyes. For a moment he could see a map of Vale covered in tiny Bullhead icons, all paired with bright red question marks. And then the map changed to show a single, blurry Bullhead. He caught her eyes, noticing how they flickered from one colour to another, and nodded in understanding.

It would be impossible to find an invisible plane, but this way, the Bullhead was hidden in plain sight. So long as they remembered it was there, they'd be able to muddle its outline out from the camouflage of obscure shapes and shadows.

Soon they were at Junior's Club. Jaune made his way towards the main entrance, but Roman caught his sleeve before he could go around the corner, putting a finger to his lips. The self-proclaimed master criminal then pulled out a set of lockpicks, and opened a side door with only a few seconds of fumbling.

And then they were inside, standing in an empty service corridor. Jaune could hear the music blasting away from upstairs, and figured that they were somewhere between the dancefloor and the pit.

"Neo, be a dear and take Jaune up to see Junior. Keep him out of sight. We'll get some drinks and wait in your favourite booth."

Neo nodded, and twirled her skirts as she skipped up towards Jaune, gesturing for him to lead the way.

"Oh, and Jaune? Have you come to a decision?" asked Roman, before they could get too far away. Jaune stopped walking, and gave him a cold smile.

"Pyrrha's agreed to fight. I just need to let Junior know what the terms are."

Roman smiled, raising his cane in a salute.

"Attaboy."

Neo seemed almost to dance through the throng of people that steadily grew thicker as they wandered through the club, but Jaune suffered a dozen bumps into bewildered strangers, and twice only narrowly avoided having drinks spilled all over him.

But soon enough, he was at the bar on the upper level, where Junior was serving drinks. Jaune vaulted over the bar, and wondered how to signal to Neo that she should drop the illusion. He gave it a moment's thought, and then shrugged. She'd figure it out.

He grabbed Junior by the shoulders, and slammed his forehead into the bigger man's nose. He heard the sound of breaking glass at the exact moment that he heard cartilage crack, and knew that the illusion was down.

Junior staggered backwards, swearing in disbelief. Jaune kicked one of his legs out from under him, and then delivered a sharp kick to his other knee.

While Junior struggled to pull himself upright, Jaune put a foot on his chest, pressing him to the ground, and leaned forward.

"Change of plans, Junior?" he hissed.

Junior swore at him loudly, grabbing hold of Jaune's leg with one meaty hand. A second later Jaune's sword was unsheathed, the tip pressed against the inside of Junior's wrist. Junior opened his hand in a gesture of surrender, glaring up at Jaune.

"Your office. Two minutes. Or this deal is over."

Before Junior could regain his composure, Jaune leapt back over the bar, and felt the familiar sensation of Neo's illusion settle around him.

He made his way to Junior's office as quickly as he could, matching pace with Junior himself. After all, Jaune didn't have a key to Junior's private rooms. Timing was critical. Just as Junior opened the door, Jaune slid inside, and dropped into Junior's office chair. He felt his ears pop as the illusion left him, the very moment he landed on the cushion. Junior stared at him in shock for a moment before turning around, locking the door, and settling into a chair opposite.

Jaune leaned forward, resting his elbows on Junior's own desk, and stared at the object of his anger.

"I've made you a fair bit of money in The Pit," he began conversationally. "Tonight I was going to make you even more. So what made you decide to throw it all away and fuck with me like that?" Jaune demanded.

"You said you wanted your team to fight, so I set up a fight!" growled Junior. "Who's going to want to fight some schoolkids when Nikos is on the roster? Who's going to say it was a fair fight when they get chosen to go up against Nikos without knowing about it?"

"One hundred fighters, from what I hear," said Jaune lightly, tapping his fingers on the desk. "What did you charge them for the entry fee?"

"What does it matter? You're going to win it all anyway. You've got Pyrrha sodding Nikos fighting purse-snatchers and two-pint brawlers!" roared Junior, his voice taking on almost inhumanly deep guttural tones. Jaune idly filed that away as yet another sign that Junior was a Faunus.

"And how much did you charge the spectators for their tickets?" asked Jaune. Junior glared at him in silence.

"Double the usual? Triple?" he prodded.

"Five times," snapped Junior. "What are you getting at? House rules are I get paid by spectators and a cut of the winnings. You're getting three times more in prize money. What part of that sounds wrong to you?"

"You sold those tickets in Pyrrha's name, not yours," mused Jaune. "Five times the usual price, eh? The way I see it, eighty percent of that came from her, not from you providing the venue."

Junior growled wordlessly, but didn't move from his chair.

"Here's what's happened so far tonight," said Jaune. "You've broken a deal made in good faith. You've tried to use one of my team to bring in some extra profit instead of our agreement. And you didn't bother to tell me about it. Did you think I was just going to gloss over all that when I saw how big the prize pool is tonight?"

"Yeah, I changed the fights up a bit," said Junior. "You're making more money, I'm making more money. We. Both. Win."

"No," said Jaune.

"No?" repeated Junior dangerously, standing with clenched fists and a furious expression.

"No. You don't get to fuck me around like this. You changed the rules. So it's only right that I change them in turn. You can keep your house cut. A quarter. That's fair. It's your venue. A quarter of the prize money - and a quarter of ticket sales."

"Those are my damn seats. In my club. You've got no fucking claim to the spectator tickets, kid," snarled Junior.

"At five times the normal price, you bet I do. You couldn't get away with charging that without Pyrrha to draw in the crowd. You pay up seventy-five percent of everything but the fucking drinks you serve, and I'll consider that your apology," snapped Jaune. "You pay up, or I walk, and you have an arena packed with punters pissed off at you for selling something you didn't have. I'm betting the hundred fighters who you promised a match to will be eager to fight something if they don't get the fight they paid for."

Junior glared at Jaune for several seconds. Jaune could feel his heart thudding in his throat, feeling almost as if he was choking on it.

But then slowly, like an Ursa collapsed, Junior flopped back down into the chair he'd been sitting in. It gave a horrendous creak of protest at his sudden weight.

"Half," he said dully. "You get Nikos to fight and you get half of everything."

"And you never try to pull this shit again," demanded Jaune.

"Alright, kid," muttered Junior. "Any deals we make in future, I'm sticking to them word for word."

Jaune left Junior at that moment, leaving the older man sitting in a chair and stewing about what had just happened. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he felt his hands begin to tremble, and clenched them into fists to stop them from shaking.

His pulse didn't stop racing until he'd found Roman and his team downstairs.

"Well?" asked Roman.

Jaune collapsed onto the leather sofa, ignoring the slight stickiness, and stole Roman's drink, downing it in one go before choking on the fiery liquid.

"That bad?" asked Pyrrha quietly, rubbing Jaune's back as he spluttered.

"The drink or Junior?" he joked, bringing a grin to Roman's face.

"Hah! You nearly had me worried for a moment there!" he cried. "What's the score?"

"Usual terms for the prize money. Winner takes three quarters. But he's been charging five times the normal price for seats in the crowd," explained Jaune.

Roman gave Jaune a speculative look.

"With the increased size for a special event, that could be nearly two weeks' profit in a day. Damn." He picked up another glass and sipped it slowly. Jaune glanced across the table, seeing nearly twenty different glasses, and wondered whether Roman or his team was responsible.

"I got half," said Jaune softly.

This time it was Roman who choked on the drink.

"Half the seat fare?" he spluttered. Jaune nodded mutely in response.

"Shit," said Roman. "How'd you pull that? Threaten to walk?" he suggested, and then shook his head. "No. That can't have been it. He never gives anyone a cut of the crowd's money."

"I just reminded him that if I walked, he'd have cheated a hundred pissed-off fighters who think they're good enough to take on Pyrrha Nikos and win. And they'd be backed up by every person who bought seats to watch a fight that wasn't happening."

Roman swore softly.

"If they didn't tear him apart, his reputation would be as bad as mine ended up before you helped me sort out that misunderstanding, the first night I took you here. Was he angry?"

Jaune shrugged.

"At first," he said. "But after he agreed to half he went quiet."

"Fuck," said Roman. "We shouldn't stick around after the fights."

"Aww," complained Nora. "I wanted to dance!"

Roman looped an arm around her shoulder and smiled rakishly at her.

"Well, there's no need for us to watch the lovely Miss Nikos beat up all of the one hundred slack-jawed twerps who had too much money and too little sense when they were making their evening plans. We can cheer her on at the beginning, then catch the finish."

Pyrrha smiled distantly, staring at the table.

"I'll try not to be too long if you think there's going to be trouble."

"Just a precaution, Miss Nikos," said Roman. Jaune's made me promise to take good care of all his friends."

"Has he, now?" murmured Ren, watching Roman from across the table.

"Emphatically," replied Roman, shooting Ren a sly wink. Ren looked more nonplussed than usual at the gesture, and buried himself in his drink.

Jaune counted the drinks on the table another time, and then counted the number of people sitting at the table. Seven people. Twenty drinks. Two of them were empty. Five were in front of Nora, all brightly coloured and full of pieces of fruit, umbrellas, and straws.

Nora pierced a chunk of strawberry on the end of an umbrella and popped it in her mouth with a satisfied smile.

In equal parts disaster control and because he didn't feel like waiting at the bar, Jaune stole two of Nora's drinks. She pouted, but didn't say a word of complaint. Something about that struck Jaune as ominous.

A little under an hour later, Junior appeared at their table. His nose looked to have been snapped back into place, although it was still red and swollen.

"Fights begin in ten," he rumbled, and swiftly moved away from their table.

Jaune and Roman exchanged looks, and then Roman gave the table an easy grin.

"I think that's our cue to head downstairs," he said. "And a reminder not to overstay our welcome."

As they were heading down the narrow stone corridors which led to The Pit, Jaune leaned in close to Roman, trying to avoid being overheard.

"You really think there's going to be trouble?" he asked.

"Not a chance. Junior gets loud, not quiet when he's angry. You stared him down, called him out, and demanded compensation for him trying to fuck you over," said Roman softly. "He's probably remembering that you're his friend, after a fashion, not just some kid who can be shaken down for easy money. I'd bet that guilt is what made him offer you half the cut, every bit as much as the threat to his business did."

"Then why -" began Jaune, only to be interrupted.

"Have I been suggesting that things are going to get dicey?" finished Roman. Jaune nodded, and they turned a corner into the large open basement which housed the pit. Lined in crude stone and the roar of a bloodthirsty crowd, it looked more like a cavern than a basement. "Well, you did say that you wanted to get your team home safely before we went out on that job."

Jaune sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"I should have known," he muttered. Roman patted him on the back approvingly.


End file.
